Ven'irsera
by Elshumkelate
Summary: The archdemon is dead and her friends and enemies have dispersed. Lyna Mahariel has had to make some tough decisions, but the toughest one, putting Loghain through the joining and so losing the love of her life, leaves her distant and cold...until Teagan finds a drunken Alistair hiding out in Kirkwall and asks her to help bring him back. Will they ever be able to find love again?
1. Prologue

Ven'irsera

Prologue:

It was over…

It was finally over.

The dragon slain, the kingdom saved, the people jubilant and the heroes…scattered to the winds like so much dust. Or possibly ashes…It didn't matter, they were all gone regardless of how poetic she waxed. Lyna stood abandoned and alone on the dais as Queen Anora proclaimed her the hero of Ferelden and offered her gifts and thanks. She hardly paid the proceedings any mind. Odd though it might have been, she was actually more concerned about her hair. It was so…shemlen right now.

Prior to the ceremony the royal entourage had shown up outside her rooms bearing all the trappings of pomp and circumstance. Even Anora's personal hair dresser was in tow—all to make the savage little elf look the part of the conquering hero. They even went so far as to cover her ears with her hair.

In years past she would have thrown the type of righteous fit wild enough to make even the gods tremble. But that was before she'd broke her own heart before the masses…nothing seemed quite as important once you consciously betrayed the one you loved.

She shook her head and tried to refocus her attention on the proceedings. Her armor was too shiny, she thought. She would never have survived the blight dressed like this! She'd have been spotted a mile away and shot right off her damned horse. If she'd had one, that is. For some reason she could only picture people dressed in her current armor on large prancing white horses. Stupid shemlen.

Yet again her mind veered off in undesired directions…the inevitable 'Him' whom she could not allow to be distraction right now. Why did thinking about stupid shemlen always have to remind her of Him. She had ceremonies to attend and dignitaries to meet and favors to secure and wardens to recruit and an order to rebuild. She had no time for emotions or desires or regrets or to wonder where he was or what he was doing. She'd made her choice knowing he would never let it stand, and so she had for all intents and purposed sent him away…just as she'd planned. And he hated her for it.

At least she knew he was out there somewhere, alive and free to live a long, full life…

And then, as if no time had passed, the ceremonies were over and the dignitaries excused. Favors were settled and recruits were discussed…funny thing about recruiting after a Blight…it was a lot easier. Afterall, no one alive would ever see another Blight and they had gained a fanatical acclaim that was all but non-existent before. Young knights were practically lining up to join her ranks.

Days meandered by as she floated through her life, never fully disengaged, but never really there either. People assumed she was grieving for all the lost souls. None assumed she only grieved for the one soul lost only to her. It wasn't even proper grieving! How did one grieve for a life she had saved?

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years. The Grey Wardens were rebuilt, the Mother sent to her grave, the Architect vanished without trace. The wardens again suffered losses and again rebuilt and such was the cycle of Vigil's Keep. After the attack on Amaranthine she came across an elvhen child, no more than a few years old at best, that had been orphaned by the darkspawn. She still didn't know what had come over her at the time, but without so much as a word, she stood the little girl on her feet, took her hand and brought her back to Vigil's Keep. Since then, she'd taken to calling her Mamae and she found that she didn't mind. It wasn't as if she could have a child of her own. The child never told Lyna her name, and so she simply took to calling her Ethlen-it was Dalish for safe child. In her stronger moments, she liked to imagine that Ethlen was the child He would have given her if there lives had been different, even if he could never have given her an elven child. A shem and an elf could only ever have shemlen children.

As the seasons turned, the child became a favorite among the Wardens at Vigil's Keep and she began to pick up skills from the men and women who served at the keep. Many of those skills Lyna would have preferred the child never know, but she was becoming a talented scout and was nearing the age when she would need to be dedicated to one of the Creators much as Lyna had been dedicated to Andruil and then apprenticed to a hunter. She suspected the child would choose Dirthamen, the keeper of secrets. On occasion the keep hosted wardens from Orlais or Weisshaupt or the Anderfels and the keep could barely contain their numbers. Those were the occasions Lyna dreaded most. "How is it that you live while the archdemon lays defeated?" Someone would ask. "The First Warden has already told you," She would reply harshly. "More than that, you need not know." No one need know that the soul of the archdemon survived somewhere in the small child begat on the eve of battle between Morrigan and Loghain. Even the First Warden did not know that. As far as anyone beyond she and Morrigan were concerned, Morrigan's spell had simply been one that strengthened her own spirit beyond what the dragon's spirit could withstand and instead of their two spirits consuming each other, the dragon's soul had entered her body and her magically fortified soul had consumed his.

In secret the other wardens would speculate that it was actually Loghain who had slain the dragon, and every time Ethlen would overhear and ask her Mamae if that were true. "Not at all, my Ethlen," Lyna would reply. "But you must not try to find the truth; you would not like what you find." No one needed to know how Loghain had really fallen; that and the true fate of the archdemon was a secret shared only by herself and two others. The man had gotten what was due him in the end and that was all that mattered; he would fade in to obscurity, a tired old war hero who didn't quite live up to his tarnished reputation in his final battle-felled by a hurlock blade moments before the battle was over. It would never be revealed that her hand had held that blade. Morrigan and Zevran had kept their silence and she'd spun the story exactly the way she'd wanted Him to hear it. She only hoped he appreciated the cruel irony once his anger at her had faded. If it had ever faded.

Then, on a cold autumn evening in the thirty sixth year of the dragon age, as the wind rustled the turning leaves and the stars were beginning to peak through the blanket of dusk, a courier arrived from Denerim. Amid the chaos of men and women sparring, he found her and handed her a letter stamped with the Guerrin seal. She expected to find a request from the regent on behalf of the Queen, as Arl Eamon would not personally communicate with her unless appearances demanded it; she had cost him a son and a nephew and would only be convinced to exchange pleasantries if they were both somehow forced to attend court together. Beyond that there was silence between them, and her guilt on those notes were reason enough to avoid frequent visits to court. Bann Teagan, on the other hand, was her friend and almost nearly her only confidant. He rarely sent letters via courier and usually preferred to visit in person. There was a time she had suspected he would make a play for her heart, or at least her hand, but he never did.

"We've succeeded!" The letter proclaimed. She cocked an eyebrow as she noted the letter was in fact from Teagan, then. Eamon's communicates were never so informal. The inevitable Him was allowed to return to Ferelden if he so chose. She found it odd that Teagan said 'we' as if she had been a part of this particular undertaking at all. She had done the unforgiveable in his eyes, and in light of the things He had pardoned her for in the past, that was saying quite a lot. She did not expect to ever be forgiven by that man. But then she'd never expected Anora to pardon the man who had nearly killed her father either...but Teagan had a way with the widowed Queen lately. Lyna was beginning to wonder just how close their relationship had become in her absence from court. Teagan's message went on to read, "I am off to search him out if you wish to accompany me."

And with that, she froze.

_Alistair…_


	2. Chapter 1

Ven'irsera

A/N: Welcome to my new Alistair/Mahariel fic! This fic takes place after the events of Awakening and concurrently to the events of DA2. The prologue should take you through all the major choices made in DAO to determine where everyone ended up in the DA2 timeline, but basically it goes like this: Lyna conscripted Loghain, Alistair deserted, Loghain and Morrigan got it on and once the dragon was slain, Lyna killed Loghain on the rooftop and blamed it on the darkspawn in order to deny him any redeeming glory. The last part she did entirely for Alistair, even though he wasn't there to appreciate it. Now Alistair is the wandering drunk in the Hanged Man.

* * *

Lyna felt her stomach lurch for the twentieth time that day as the Sea Chanty (a merchant ship belonging to some dwarven merchant who owed Bann Teagan and favor) lurched violently to the right in the rough waters off Kirkwall's Harbor. They'd been searching for weeks, following stories of shady men battling darkspawn only for their leads to lead them nowhere. Finally word had reached her through her friend and fellow Warden, Nathaniel, that he had seen someone matching the exiled prince's description in the city of Kirkwall while on an assignment from Weisshaupt. She felt the bile rise in her throat just as she managed to choke it back. Somehow, her rather overcooked lunch managed to stay down but she knew her complexion was probably some horrible shade of green. And if she were being honest, sea sickness was not the only reason her stomach was churning…

"I would have assumed that the Dalish would be immune to such things as sea sickness," Bann Teagan commented as he came up beside her. "Not to mention the woman who defeated the archdemon and saved all of Fereldan—and Thedas!"

"Yes well, my clan rarely took on traveling by sea," She replied between swallowing back gags. "And what makes you think that facing Urthemiel didn't make me sick to my stomach as well?"

Teagan only laughed heartily in response. "I suppose that is fair," he chuckled. "I likely would have soiled myself had it been me."

Lyna eyeballed the man beside her, wondering where such a graphic statement came from. He was usually so proper, if highly informal around her. Still, she and Teagan had become close in the time she had served as Commander of the Grey in Ferelden and maybe this was just more proof, oddly graphic though it might be, that he had accepted her as one of his inner circle and stopped attempting to pursue her hand.

Her stomach churned again.

"Something we should probably discuss before we make port…" Bann Teagan began haltingly. "There is a great deal of…elven slavery in Kirkwall," he tip toed. "And…slavers run rampant in Lowtown and Darktown…it…might be prudent to keep your features hidden." Sometimes he stammered so much, she wondered if it wasn't Teagan who'd been Alistair's primary guardian rather than Eamon. How else could he have ever picked up the habit?

She glared dangerously at the older man, more for effect than out of any actual displeasure. She'd long outgrown any possible dislike she might have had for him. In all her travels, he was one of only a few who never considered her race to be a factor in how well she performed her duties.

"I agree that it's preposterous," he rushed to defend himself. "But we are not in Ferelden any longer and your status and service to the crown will not protect you here as it does back home...especially since you refuse to wear the fancy new uniform the First Warden sent you…"

Lyna rolled her eyes in disgust before snapping the hood of her tunic up over her ears and pulling it low over her eyes. "Better?" She napped before her stomach churned yet again and she leaned over the side of the ship again.

"That wouldn't be the way I would put it, but you will be safer that way. It would be wise to have Ethlen do the same-why did you bring her with us?" he asked. "It's not that I don't adore the girl, you know I do, but she's still so young and she's become just as willful as you. She's in danger here…are you sure you're alright?" He asked.

"Do. I. Look. Alright!?" She demanded. Teagan merely chuckled in pity as he handed her a tankard of fresh water. "And Ethlen can take care of herself," She continued, choking back another wave of bile. "She's better at sneaking through the shadows at the age of ten than I am now. She won't be found unless she wants to be."

"Perhaps we should find lodging and allow you to rest, regardless. We will of course need to go to the Viscount's Keep and make our formal introductions to Dumar before we go traipsing around his city and rousting his subjects."

"Why do you always assume there will be rousting?" Lyna huffed.

"I only assume that when I travel with you, my lady," Teagan teased.

"And here I thought you respected my unique brand of diplomacy…" Lyna pouted as she swallowed against the gurgling in her stomach.

"I have every respect for it…when we're in Ferelden and it won't result with us both locked in prison and your daughter sold to the nearest slaver. Try to remember that we have no real authority here…" Teagan implored, though he suspected his requests would have little to know effect on the firebrand standing beside him.

"And yet people always seem willing to give it to me," she shrugged, confirming his suspicions.

"Uniting a nation and killing a tainted god tends to help," was all he could say to that. "When the people in power actually care about your deeds. Kirkwallers will not."

"The very fact that you can level an argument against every statement I make means you have spent too much time in my company…What would Anora think?" Lyna jeered, attempting to move the subject away from her rather liberal use of violence in getting what she wanted.

"Anora would think nothing," He smirked back. "I am of no interest to her—"

"I'll have to disagree there," she interrupted coyly.

"And despite my best efforts, you will meet the Maker loving Alistair," Teagan teased right back. "So there really is nothing for _anyone_ to be jealous about."

Their bantering slowed to a comfortable standstill as the Sea Chanty listed in to the calmer waters of the port and sailed through the gates of The Gallows. The two featureless figures of slaves, chained and suspended from the walls gave Lyna's stomach something new and interesting to roil over and she unconsciously pulled the hood of her tunic even lower. Stupid vallaslin all over her face…she loved her tattoo and had chosen it carefully when she came of age, but now that she lived in the shemlen world, there were times she wished she'd gone with something a little less noticeable. Like right now. This was definitely one of those moments.

As the ship pulled up to the docks, ropes were thrown over the side and secured to posts. The ramp was lowered as Gorim, the dwarven merchant they traveled with, directed his crew to begin off-loading goods. Teagan gave her one of his 'deadly serious' faces and said "You and Ethlen stay nearby, I mean it. I don't care whether or not you think you could sneak through the Grand Cathedral unseen, I'll not be losing you just as we're about to find Alistair."

Lyna rolled her eyes at his over protectiveness, but said nothing. As if on cue, her daughter appeared out of nowhere and smiled deviously at her mamae. Obviously she would sneak off anyway—Neither of them liked being under anyone's thumb, no matter how much they might like them personally—but he didn't need to know that before it happened. Truly, Ethlen was likely safer on her own than being tied down to visiting Ferelden dignitaries. As for Lyna, she found it mildly entertaining that Teagan continued to believe Lyna would actually do as he commanded unless she actually wanted to. In fact, after knowing her for six years, his choice to command rather than ask that she stay close almost demanded that she do the exact opposite, just to prove a point she knew he already understood. Unfortunately, Kirkwall was full of Ferelden refugees who would likely recognize her if she were to try and sneak through the crowded docks with Ethlen rather than err on the side of caution and follow along with Teagan in her disguise.

"Dareth shiral, Mamae," Ethlen said, wishing her a safe journey.

"Dareth shiral, Lethalan," Lyna replied. "We'll have rooms in Hightown after nightfall. Don't be late...don't be early either, or you'll have a hard time explaining to the innkeep what you're doing there."

"Ma nuvenin," Ethlen replied, nodding her agreement before she took off for the shadows.

Lyna followed Teagan off the ship and through the docks and then the market and then Hightown. Everywhere she looked she saw city elves living in squalor or servitude, worse than anything she had ever seen in Ferelden. The only bit of nature to be found anywhere was the Vhenadahl in the middle of the alienage; it was monstrous, at least four times the size of the people's tree in the Denerim alienage, and the base of the tree was covered in hand painted elven symbols. For all the stark barrenness of this city and its stone walls, that tree was a sight to behold…but she dared not out herself by walking in to the district. At least not yet. She was not so green anymore that she assumed she could waltz in to any old place and announce her presence without having to face some consequences.

When they reached the Viscount's Keep it was another story all together. There were templars and city guards and human lords and ladies as far as the eye could see, but they were all human. It would have been one thing if there were dwarves and Qunari wandering around alongside all the shemlen, but there were not. She couldn't believe the elves hadn't risen up, called for Mien'Harel.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, they were finally called before Viscount Dumar.

"I apologize for the delay in greeting you, Bann Teagan," the Viscount began. "There have been problems with the Qunari lately, escalating beyond the usual problems anyway."

"That is unfortunate," Bann Teagan replied.

Lyna snorted. Had the Viscount seen the state of his city lately? You didn't have to follow the Qun to have a problem with it.

Teagan shot her a disapproving look before continuing. "Then I apologize for keeping you here at such a late hour, but we thought it would be wise to inform you of our activities before they began."

"Activities? Please elaborate, I'm not certain Kirkwall can handle anymore strife…" Dumar sighed as he rubbed his temple, his eyebrows drawing together to accentuate the worry lines in his forehead.

"Let me introduce my associate," Teagan began as he stepped aside and waved a hand towards her. Lyna stepped forward and removed her hood. "Lady Lyna Mahariel, Arl of Amaranthine, Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden." Dumar's eyes opened wide as his eyes studied her for the first time.

"My lady, I apologize for not recognizing you sooner," Dumar replied without hesitation, bowing his head slightly in respect.

Lyna smiled graciously bowed her head in turn. "No need, Lord Guerrin and I both believed I might be safer disguised while on foreign soil." She paused before her expression darkened. "I am Elvhen after all, and Kirkwallers seem even less inclined to welcome someone like myself than Fereldens were before I stopped the Blight."

"Y-yes, well…Unfortunately the elves are just one of many factions that demand my attention on a daily basis," Dumar fumbled for a second. "For my men to police every little piece of social injustice…Forgive me, Lady, but it would open up space for another of Kirkwall's factions to gain the upper hand over the others. Being the master of this city is a delicate balancing act that, unfortunately, requires that everyone be somewhat unhappy at all times."

"That is not why we are here, however," Teagan jumped in. Lyna knew she was being cut off before she could begin to gather momentum, and usually she'd have put Teagan in his place, but her mind was occupied with other things. Or, well, other people…one other person in particular really, and her anxieties at having the face him again.

"Then what is it that brings you here?" Dumar asked, his tone a little shorter now that Lyna had made it clear she was displeased with his opporation.

"We're in search of a man we believe has come to live in your city," Lyna supplied. "He is of interest to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, as well as Bann Teagan's family, and the Queen."

"Is this man dangerous?" Dumar asked. "Do you require assistance in capturing him?"

Lyna didn't answer right away. Was Alistair dangerous? He could be, given the wrong person and the right circumstances, but she didn't think that was any reason to give the Viscount cause for alarm.

"He is most likely not," Teagan rejoined when her silence lasted a beat too long to be truly convincing. "We are here mostly asking you that we be allowed to conduct our search unhindered by your guard or the templars."

Dumar's brow furrowed again. "I don't see why a search for a most likely non-dangerous man should require a visit to me for permission…"

Now it was Teagan's turn to miss a beat.

"My Lord, I am not a subtle person most of the time," Lyna supplied. "As my Keeper liked to say before I joined the Grey Wardens, I favor violence as a means of persuasion. Teagan and I need to know that should a conflict break out, we will not end up in a prison while our quarry goes to ground."

"I see," Dumar mused. "I regret to say cannot grant you free reign over my city—news of something like that would without a doubt reach Knight Commander Meredith's ears and then I would likely face being deposed by the Templars simply because I have refused the same to her…but I could grant you limited, temporary diplomatic immunity."

Lyna opened her mouth to argue, but a firm hand from Teagan landed on her shoulder as he replied, "Thank you Lord Viscount. With any luck, we will have this situation resolved in a week or so and be on our way back to Ferelden."

With that, the Viscount penned a quick document detailing the limits of their diplomatic immunity before they took their leave and headed towards one of the many overpriced inns in Hightown. Lyna was in desperate need of a bath and some sleep before they began their search in the morning. Odd how she felt the urge to resemble someone female and attractive all of a sudden after so many years of being just as smelly and unkempt as any of the men and women she commanded at Vigil's Keep…


	3. Chapter 2

Ven'irsera: Chapter 2

"Teagan, have you read this permit Dumar wrote for us!?" Lyna fumed at breakfast—her food left nearly untouched as her stomach continued to do summersaults, despite their being back on solid ground. Ethlen, who had randomly appeared at their side as they entered the inn last night much to Teagan's consternation, sat happily on her lap, munching away at Lyna's eggs and bacon. "It's preposterous! How am I supposed to conduct a proper search when, and I quote, 'Conflicts arising between visiting dignitaries and local authorities will be handled by the Captain of the Kirkwall City Guard…' Do you know how frequently 'local authorities' are honest enough to deal fairly with foreign dignitaries? Never mind an elven foreign dignitary."

"I did read it, Lyna, and it's fairly standard," Teagan replied somewhat absently as he sipped on his cup of tea. "What would you do if some foreigner showed up in Ameranthine and started causing problems?"

"I'd put an end to it," she replied.

"Precisely," was all he said in return.

"But my city guard is not corrupt!" She cried. "And there is no reason for foreigners to show up in Ameranthine and roust my subjects. That was all dealt with during my first six months as Arlessa."

"How can you be so sure?" Teagan asked, his attention still not fully on their conversation.

"I…I just can!" She insisted. "My men are loyal and they report anything of concern to me. Had someone like Alistair shown up in Ameranthine, I'd have known his entire personal history and assigned someone to watch him until I was satisfied he was not someone I needed to be concerned about by day's end...as opposed to Viscount Dumar, who is perfectly fine with 'everyone being somewhat unhappy at all times'. All anyone would have to do is ask me where to find their man and it would be done!"

"Well then I am happy for both you and Ameranthine, however that is not necessarily the case here, and we must follow their rules or find ourselves imprisoned or deported," he replied pointedly.

"If I'm to be hauled off to speak with the Captain of the Guard every time I get in to a scuffle with someone wearing a uniform, this will be a very long visit indeed," she huffed.

"On that we can agree," Teagan replied, idly toying with his cutlery while his eyes stared off into the distance.

"Something on your mind?" She asked, her crossness spent…for the moment.

"Why Kirkwall, of all places?" Teagan asked. "It's so stark and uninviting. I can't imagine what drew Alistair to this City…"

A sad little smile formed on Lyna's lips as she twirled a finger in her daughter's hair and thought on Him. "I can…" Teagan shot her a questioning gaze. She shrugged as she stirred the remains of her rapidly disappearing eggs with her fork. "If I were the one who was denied their revenge by the one I loved most and then banished from my home by my dead brother's wife, I would not want to land anywhere that reminded me of the things I had lost. There's no danger of Kirkwall ever being such a reminder."

"I suppose that if someone were to take up a new life against their will, it would be easiest to move on in a place that contrasted so plainly," Teagan nodded, his eyes now cast over her shoulder and out the inn's single window. "Come, let's get a move on," he sighed as he stood. "As you said, this will likely be a long visit and we've only got a week's pardon to beat his location out of the locals."

Lyna smiled almost too much. "I'm more than ready for a spot of violence! Being cooped up on that ship for so long has definitely left me a bit twitchy."

"Yes, Mamae" Ethlen replied around a mouth full of toast, giving her a mildly amused stare. "Everyone on board was aware."

Lyna's jaw dropped in mock indignation. "I was a perfect gem, all things considered," She replied as they stood to leave. "I mean really; between the sea sickness, the cramped quarters and the cabin fever, it's a testament to how dedicated I have been in developing my self-control."

"I doubt Gorim's first mate would see it that way," Teagan smirked.

Lyna simply huffed in frustration as she dropped a few coppers on the table, yanked her hood up over her ears and headed to the door. "It is hardly my fault that the man snuck up on me in the dark while I was wretching over the side of the ship. He's lucky all he got was a scratch on the neck."

Outside, the morning was already beginning to warm and Lyna knew she would be dying of heat by the time the sun reached its highest point. She pouted to herself, but was determined not to complain. She might be free to act less like a commander now that her Wardens were all an ocean away and in no need of being impressed by their leader, but she'd grown accustomed to her reputation invoking a certain amount of respect when she was in the public eye and she knew she did not have that advantage here. She would need to do her best to seem imposing and dangerous to total strangers or deal with being treated like the riff raff again. Not something she'd particularly enjoyed in her first year as Grey Warden, nor something she particularly wanted Ethlen to witness.

Of course, looking at the high stone walls surrounding them and noting the lack of a breeze, her determination might be for naught. Heat already radiated off the stones and even seeped through the base of her shoes to cook her feet. It was hard to look intimidating when one was sweating like some stinking pig. Yes…this would be a very long visit.

They'd barely so much as chose which route they would take to low town when a loud commanding voice called out, "Stop!"

Lyna's shoulders slumped as she turned laboriously to face the voice. "You cannot be serious…" She huffed. "I've not even done anything yet!" Behind her, the Captain of the Guard—Aveline Vallen, Viscount Dumar had called her—approached them. She was the exact opposite of Lyna in every way; tall, copper haired, vaguely masculine. She needed no false bravado to intimidate her enemies, her stature and build did the job just fine. Lyna momentarily wondered what the outcome of a sparring match with this woman would be…best not to find out here and now though.

"I am Guard Captain Aveline Vallen," She introduced herself, not a breath wasted on formalities. "If you'll be so kind as to come with me, Serah?"

Lyna's eyebrows shot into her hairline at the so-called request and nearly laughed at the insolence before crossing her arms and giving the captain a once over, as if to say 'You and what army?'

Captain Vallen smirked almost imperceptibly to herself at the non-verbal challenge. "Messere Mahariel, I realize that was worded as a request…I assure you it was not one, and that instigating a confrontation with me and my guardsmen will not end well for you."

Lyna glanced around and noted the Kirkwall city crest blazoned on numerous breastplates in the immediate vicinity and then again planted her eyes firmly on the guard captain. Ah...that army..."I might be tempted to test that theory; however my companion would never let me hear the end of it, so for now we will play along." She was careful to make it clear she wasn't intimidated. Truthfully, she didn't like the numbers. There were at least five to one in the current scenario, and that wasn't including the five she'd have to fight for her daughter-a talented sneak, but miserable with weapons. She'd faced greater odds, but those days were long since passed and she wasn't certain she could maintain the advantage without additional support. She'd gone a bit soft of recent years…that would need to be worked on when they got back to Vigil's Keep…

The walk to the Viscount's Keep was plenty short; they'd only travelled as far as was strictly necessary for food and lodging. Unfortunately, being escorted to the Keep by the Captain of the Guard was drawing a great deal of attention. So much for laying low…she cast a glance at Bann Teagan communicating these thoughts. His answering look said he was feeling the same way. "I'll need a fresh disguise when this is over," she muttered.

Teagan nodded his agreement. "Perhaps Captain Vallen can lend you something."

"Yes, she seems very inclined to do me favors," Lyna grumbled as she noticed a few of the nobles beginning to whisper to each other. Brilliant.

When they finally arrived in Captain Vallen's offices and the doors were secure, Lyna threw off her hood and the clear ring of metal leaving scabbard heralded the arrival of the point of Lyna's favorite Dar'Misu directly in front of Captain Vallen's face. "What in the VOID was that all about, Guard Captain!?" She spat. "Do you realize that it is VERY likely that our man will hear about you escorting the Hero of Ferelden through Hightown!? He doesn NOT want to be found by me, and it is now very likely that he won't be."

Aveline didn't flinch. The threat from the much smaller woman barely so much as registered. Her expression darkened as her eyes narrowed and she simply pushed the blade aside with one finger. "Viscount Dumar informed me early this morning that the Hero of Ferelden was in our city on a mission. I felt it necessary to introduce myself immediately," she replied as she crossed her arms and bowed slightly towards them in the customary Ferelden manner.

"You know who I am and yet you still greet me so abruptly?" Lyna marveled, her temper sparking a little further at the blatant disrespect.

Teagan only sighed from the rear of the escalating confrontation. "Do try to remember the terms of our agreement with the Viscount, Lyna…"

"I recall them perfectly, and they said nothing about curbing my temper in the face of barefaced insolence," she snapped, her eyes never leaving the Guard Captain.

"You misunderstand me, my lady," Aveline replied in the same cold abrupt manner. "I am not here to ruffle feathers or engage you in a dispute; I simply wished to make my presence known." It was packaged as cordiality, but Lyna recognized the threat lying just beneath the surface; this was her city, she was in charge, and Maker help those who caused her trouble. She was certainly imposing enough to back up the implication, and the calm manner in which she simply brushed Lyna's dagger aside spoke of immense confidence in her ability to do so physically as well. "Kirkwall is already rampant with problems of its own. I am here to ask that you do your utmost not to add to them."

"Hah!" Lyna barked in pure ironic amusement. "Well than, Captain Vallen, I will do my best to abide by the rules." Her voice was unashamedly condescending.

Now the Guard Captain watched her carefully for a moment, attempting to discern how much of a threat Lyna actually intended to pose. After a while she seemed to have found her answer and her demeanor softened. "I apologize for the display—escorting you through the city like I did—unfortunately there was no way around it," she sighed deeply as she allowed a little of her exhaustion to peek through her commanding exterior. "Knight-Commander Meredith leads the Templars in this city and is not only power hungry, but seemingly becoming quite unstable as well. She makes daily efforts to chip away at the Viscount's power and the mage's anonymity. Obviously the mages respond poorly to that. As if that were not problem enough, the Qunari and the Elven population become increasingly difficult with each passing week. The slavers and blood mages hiding in the nearby hills are nearly impossible to control, let alone expel, and then there's the nobility…" She sighed loudly. "Viscount Dumar would hardly deny you the right to seek out one of your own people, but he doesn't realize how granting you any form of immunity compromises our already precarious situation. The escort was the only way I could see to express to all parties that the Viscount and I are still the law around here."

"On a more personal note," she continued. "I also wished to express my sympathy at the loss of your Grey Warden brethren at Ostagar. I served in the King's army at that battle and saw the men and women of your order falling all around me as they battled against the hoard." That caught Lyna a little off guard—struck her speechless in fact—but she somehow managed to slowly bow her head in shocked thanks. Perhaps the bracing façade was merely that…it was quite confusing, regardless. "My late husband and I barely escaped the battle itself, and Wesley fell to the darkspawn sickness soon after."

"I'm…sorry to hear that," Lyna replied, her own waning temper now warring uncomfortable with equal parts guilt and empathy. "The darkspawn taint is…unpleasant; I…I hope he did not suffer long."

Aveline nodded her thanks and suddenly she was all business again. "Before I return to my duties, is there any way in which I or my men can assist you?"

Now it was Teagan who spoke. "I'm afraid that our mission actually requires a great deal of stealth. The man we are searching for might be inclined to disappear should he see us coming, and unfortunately having the city guard in tow would likely give us away."

"But-" Lyna interrupted. "You might be able to provide us with some information." Lyna interjected. She found herself hoping that Aveline would have more information on the minutia of the city that the Viscount seemed to have. For as much trouble as Kirkwall gave her, she seemed to want to run it the same way Lyna ran her own arling.

"There are hundreds, if not thousands of Ferelden refugees in this city. I am not sure I can provide information on more than a select few of them considering how thinly stretched my forces and I are," she replied. "But I can always try. What is it, you'd like to know?"

"His given name is Alistair," Lyna supplied. "I cannot supply his family name, as it would likely place him in a great deal of danger, however, I can tell you he is a Grey Warden and a highly skilled Templar warrior recruited from Denerim before the blight. He's about six foot with ruddy blond hair."

Aveline considered the description a moment, but eventually shook her head. "I am sorry, but I'm afraid the man is not anyone I'm familiar with…" Lyna's shoulders sagged a bit in frustration. "But I do know of a Ferelden Grey Warden who may be of more help to you. He's a mage, a spirit healer, and runs a clinic for the refugees in dark town. I wouldn't approach him lightly though, he's harboring a spirit from the fade. He claims it's not a demon and that he is no abomination, but I'm personally very doubtful on that count."

That caught her attention. Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms in annoyance. "Anders."

"So you already know him then," She smirked.

"I've gone out of my way to protect him more times than I care to think about given his abandonment of his duties at Vigil's Keep," She replied.

"Yes, that does sound like the Anders I know," Aveline commiserated.

Aveline quickly scrawled out directions from the keep, through Hightown and Lowtown and then the cesspool that was Darktown, an ancient Tevinter mine long since exhausted of its riches and extended to dispose of the city's sewage. According to Vallen, it was the perfect place to be abducted by slavers or murdered by bandits or blood mages—that's where many Ferelden refugees fled to during the Blight, and might even be the place she would find this Alistair. She nearly choked to think of Alistair living in those conditions. From the sound of it, the refugees had it worse than the city elves! She couldn't help recalling images of Dust Town and the Carta in Orzammar and prayed to the Creators that Alistair hadn't ended up there.

After exchanging goodbyes, Lyna turned to Teagan. "I should go alone to find Anders," she said, calculating not only her ability to move around unseen, but also her companion's monetary worth to Ferelden's nobility. She had faced the Carta before and could more than handle bandits and the occasional blood mage. Teagan was noble born and had never really face a true battle until the Battle of Denerim. He was capable of handling a few bandits now and again, but sneaking past the Carta was something else entirely, and he would make for a very valuable hostage if she was neutralized.

"But mamae, I want to go with you to see Anders!" Ethlen hissed at her side. Ethlen had enjoyed his company more than most of the rest of the wardens when he had been at Vigil's keep, likely because he had been the first to try to engage her and also because he could be quite the child himself.

"Absolutely not!" Teagan nearly cried. "You really think I'm about to let you wander in to that place alone? With a child? You must be out of your mind."

"No, NOT with a child," She declared, her eyes boing disapproving holes in to her daughters eyes. Ethlen pouted...it was never a good sign when she didn't argue back. It usually meant she intended to do as she wanted anyway. "But it's sensible for me to go alone, Teagan," She insisted. "You're much too valuable a hostage—"

"So are you!" He interrupted.

"Yes, but I'm more trouble than I'm worth," she explained. "If they're stupid enough to attack, they'll die. If they do manage to take me hostage, they'll have an extremely difficult time keeping me. I've faced the Carta before, and bandits are a dime a dozen. It's nothing I can't handle."

"You faced the Carta in Orzammar with three other people at your back, and had plenty of trouble with it then," he pointed out. "You can't possibly assume to be a match for them all by yourself!"

"Which is why I will be sticking to the _shadows_," she emphasized, giving him that look that meant there would be no more discussion. "I can't stay hidden and move quickly _and_ worry about Ethlen's and your safety all at the same time. You need to trust me that this is best."

Teagan sighed with both worry and irritation. "Fine," he finally bit out. "But for the record, I am against this…just…please go back to the inn and change in to something you weren't just displayed in front of the whole city wearing?" She nodded and smiled her agreement. "What will you do if you come across Alistair?" He asked.

That brought her up short. Her stomach flip-flopped as butterflies erupted in her gut and then out through her limbs. "I…I don't know," she replied, nerves making her voice quaver a little. "I suppose we'll know where he is then…" The look from Teagan said he expected more than just that'll-be-that. "Well, I mean…he won't be happy to see me. I can't be the one to announce our presence, he might take off."

"No, I agree," Teagan replied.

"I suppose I could try to convince Anders to draw him out…to take him someplace where you could talk to him, convince him to come home," she reasoned.

"That seems reasonable," Teagan agreed, smiling sympathetically towards her. He knew this wasn't easy for her; remaining quietly in the background and not charging in half-cocked. She hoped she was right about being able to handle this bit of reconnaissance alone…she hadn't had to be stealthy enough to evade actual living beings for a long time. She hadn't even had to hunt! She sighed, more worried for her own safety than she cared to let on. This could get interesting.

* * *

**A/N:** Big thanks to those who followed, faved and reviewed the previous two chapters! I'm having a lot of fun with this, since I'm getting to skip to the part of Lyna and Ali's relationship that I have wanted to explore since starting Vhenan'ara. While I adore Origins Lyna, she is 100% an incarnation of a younger me—hotheaded and ready to take on the world, but also hanging on by a thread while she figures out how to navigate through a world that is rapidly changing around her—much like life does for people in their early twenties. It's easy to write about that first big love because we've all been there, falling for that impossibly cute guy or girl whose mutual attraction we can't even begin to understand…problem is, that's never where the story ends and people seem to forget that. Looking back on my first love, I'm glad that's not where the story ended because, as new and exciting as it was, I was always going to be too much woman for him to handle. Similarly, Origins Lyna was too much for poor Ali and so they went their separate ways (of course the actual breakdown of their relationship is much more multifaceted than that,) but time changes us all. Over the intervening years Lyna's edges have softened thanks to having to be a true leader, not just a de facto one, and needing to be more diplomatic in her dealings. Where Origins Lyna would have buried those anxieties and confronted her problems, grown up Lyna knows that a confrontation will get her nowhere and that she is more or less powerless to affect the outcome of this journey despite having incredibly deep seeded hopes for how it works out. What I really wanted to touch on in this chapter though was that despite the calm, cool and collected exterior (ignoring for a second her ever present hotheadedness) she's very anxious about facing Ali for the first time since she betrayed him. Hopefully I've accomplished that.

On to chapter 3!


	4. Chapter 3

Ven'irsera

She must have traipsed through a dozen different sewage tunnels and not only soaked her thankfully cheap Free Marcher boots through with urine, but caked them ten times over with fecal matter and whatever other indescribable forms of waste had made their way in to Darktown from the world above before she finally found the door with the lit lantern above it, as described by Aveline. Anders' clinic. Aveline's directions were not at all clear…or more likely Darktown was not at all clear…either way she smelt of shit and urine and chokedamp, the latter of which cause her to cough and wheeze quite violently at the most inopportune moments. She'd already faced down a contingent of carta and a couple groups of bandits and slavers due to her having blown her own Void bound cover. Looking now at the door Guard Captain Vallen had said Anders would be hiding behind, she truly hoped Vallen was right. Lyna had certainly been right to leave Teagan and Ethlen behind, though. He never would have stood for wading through the excrement of several different races. She was surprised she could still stomach it herself after so many comfortable years in the keep at Ameranthine. As for Ethlen, sneaky little rogue though she was, she would have been a liability down here.

After checking the small clearing between her hiding spot and the door of the clinic, as well as tossing a small pebble down the nearby stairwell, firing an arrow across the open area beyond and making several coughing noises and listening for it to raise an alarm of some sort, she finally decided it was safe to take the last few strides towards the far too well lit doorway and her one time friend. She'd be made so much fun of if her subordinates had seen that…She thought, at first, to knock but then remembered something Aveline had said about Anders being jumpy as regards to templars and decided to just walk in and surprise the man. She was plenty capable of dodging his attacks.

As she opened the door, she was surprised to find it didn't creek as she had expected it would. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing…it served those entering and exiting the clinic to not be heard doing so by whatever lowlifes were potentially lingering just out of sight, however it made it almost laughably easy to sneak up on those inside if someone were there to do mischief. She made a mental note to speak with him about that.

As she walked across the room to where the man sat chatting with a cloaked child, his back facing towards Lyna, none of the rest of the clinic's occupants paid her any notice. Good, that meant her disguise was effective...now that she was about to blow it, revealing her commander-y-ness to one of her most troublesome recruits. Pausing directly behind him, she threw her hip out to the side and placed a haughty hand there on her hip before she began tapping her toe.

All conversation with his hooded patient came to a halt as the sound of her tapping toe reached his ear. His head then turned, ever so slowly to look over his shoulder at the new comer. As she drew back her hood to reveal he face, he realized who she was and wilted almost instantly under her glare.

"Anders!" She nearly shrieked—she controlled her voice only enough to avoid becoming shrill—as he winced. "What in the _name_ of the _creators_ are you doing here!?" She demanded.

"Commander! I, uh…" he bumbled as he stood to face her and simultaneously wrung his hands. "I promise I had absolutely nothing to do with this…"

That caught her off guard. Nothing to do with this? With what? That's when the hooded patient walked up from behind him, grabbed his hand and meekly peered out at her from behind him.

"I swear I was just about to come find you and bring her back," Anders insisted as Ethlen pouted up at her.

"Don't be mad at Anders, Mamae," She pleaded. "I wanted to see him, but you wouldn't let me." Tears brimmed the girl's bright blue eyes and threatened to fall, but Lyna was long immune to this puppy dog act. She wondered sometimes that Ethlen still used it on her at all, even if every other Warden under her command were wrapped around the child's little finger. Fire burst through her veins and sparked in her eyes as she straighted her poster, place both hands on her hips and stared down those ridiculous puppy eyes.

"Da'len, you are in a _world_ of trouble!" She shouted, still using her commander voice. The puppy dog eyes vanished and were instantly replaced by the 'Grumpy Pout'. "How often do I _actually_ tell you to do, or in this case _not _do something!?"

"Never," Ethlen pouted. "But I made it here all by myself just fine; no one saw me at all!" She insisted.

"That doesn't change the fact that you disobeyed me!" Lyna snapped. "Just because no one saw you doesn't mean there was no danger. I specifically said no, and I did so for _very_ good reasons. Now go stand by the door until I am done with Anders!" She commanded.

"No!" Ethlen yelled. "I don't want to!"

"Do you really want to test me, right now Ethlen Mahariel!?" She almost bellowed. Ethlen winced, but refused to cower before Lyna's temper. She kicked the dirt beneath her feet and muttered something about mean grownups and hating mamae. Lyna glared righteous fury at the child's back as she finally did as she was told. She wasn't sure what punishment would suffice for this transgression. Teagan was right about one thing, Ethlen was indeed becoming too willful. Now she turned her most dangerous glare on Anders. "I'm going to TRY forget for a moment that my daughter was down here with you instead of patiently waiting in our rooms in Hightown and ask you what exactly you and Justice are doing here in Kirkwall and not with the Wardens in Weisshaupt as you were instructed…and you allowed Justice to possess you along the way!?"

Now Anders stopped cowering and crossed his arms in indignation. "Considering the number of times I ran from the circle, can you really be surprised that I ran from the Wardens when the Templars sent Rolan to keep an eye on me?"

"Rolan was a Grey Warden when he died, not a Templar," She snapped.

"That's not what it looked like to me when he called the Templars to put me down," Anders replied, his own eyes narrowed at her.

"You think I had something to do with that?" She cried in disbelief.

"I don't know, did you?" He snarked back.

"Of course not!" Lyna replied, now genuinely taken aback by the accusation. "Cover your ears, Ethlen—Seriously Anders, exactly how many times did the circle ask me where to find Morrigan without receiving so much as a 'fuck you very much'? I had no idea that Rolan was still loyal to the Templars, and if I had, it would have been dealt with. I promised you safety amongst the Wardens and I meant it." Behind her, Ethlen choked back a giggle at her mother's curse.

Anders watched Lyna suspiciously for a good long moment, weighing whether or not he could trust what she said. She didn't know what there was that he could possibly be debating about; she'd done nothing but protect the mages under her command, and upon learning of Rolan's true loyalties, she'd travelled to Kinloch Hold and had personally beaten Knight Commander Greagoir to a bloody pulp for so much as presuming to even 'monitor' the mages at Vigil's Keep, let alone dispatch them for stepping outside Chantry bounds. The Chantry had no voice in the ranks of the Grey Wardens and he most certainly knew it now. She'd been screening recruits much more carefully since then, especially those coming from the Chantry. Finally Anders relaxed and relented. "Maybe not, but the fact is that the chantry considers me an abomination now," he replied.

"Yes, that was a stupid decision on your part," Lyna replied, her glare resettling on her face. "They hounded us for weeks until I finally told everyone you were dead."

"Whether or not my choice was foolish is a matter of opinion," Anders replied testily, but decided to change the subject, not wishing to delve any further in to that discussion. "Why did you come here, Commander? You must have better things to do than hunt down rogue mages in other countries."

She continued to glare for a moment before sighing and letting her shoulders and head droop in exhaustion. Anders wasn't her responsibility any longer, and part of her was grateful for that. "You are right, I do," she said as she rubbed on of her shoulders and looked back up to make eye contact with him. "I'm looking for someone; a warden by the name of Alistair. I've received news that he is living in Kirkwall."

"Alistair!?" Anders asked, shock written on his face. "You mean that drunk at The Hanged Man who goes on and on about how he's a traitor and a disgraced Ferelden Prince?"

"Oh no…" She moaned as her head slumped in to her hand. Alistair, a drunk? How could that be? It wasn't as if the man never drank, of course. He could go a few rounds with Oghren, even if he'd never won the game of 'drink the dwarf under the table'. But she'd betrayed him so that he could live a _life_ not drink it away in some tavern in some foul tavern in foul Kirkwall.

"He's a Grey Warden?" Anders cogitated, smiling amusedly to himself. "Although that does make some of his ramblings a bit more sensible…"

"Ramblings?" She almost hated to ask.

"Stuff like 'Stupid Grey Wardens and their stupid rituals…Why does anyone take the joining anyway? What are the Wardens good for?' and much more I'm sure," Anders supplied.

Lyna sighed deeply; good to know he was hanging tightly on to that particular grievance. There was certainly no chance that he would be receptive to a visit from her. That would make things much more difficult. "I'm afraid I'm going to need to beg your help then," she looked up at him plaintively. Anders cocked a highly curious eyebrow at her.

"There's quite the story here…you might have to share it with me before I consider whether or not I can help," he replied cheekily. She wondered for a moment that she'd ever even been vaguely attracted to this man.

Lyna paused for a moment, not sure she wanted to share the entire sordid story with her most troublesome recruit. He had a mouth on him, that was for certain and she really didn't want her private affairs publicized, but…Anders might just be her only hope here. "What do you want to know?" She finally acquiesced.

"Everything!" Anders exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Brilliant…" She muttered to herself. She looked around the room, noting the many patients, some who were now listening very closely to their discussion. More importantly, Ethlen was listening to their discussion. She wasn't exactly ready for her child to know the deep intimate details of her life before Vigil's Keep. "Can we do this somewhere a little less…public?" She pleaded in a lower voice. Anders' evil little smile deepened and she knew instantly that this was not going to be an enjoyable experience.

But he obliged her. "Of course," Anders replied. "Just give me a couple hours to patch up the patients I still need to tend to."

She nodded and with that, he went to the clinic's entrance and extinguished the lantern light above the door. That light signaled whether or not the doctor was in, she guessed. With that she walked over to where her daughter stood, looking falsely contrite. "Don't think for a moment I am fooled by that face," Lyna reprimanded. Ethlen's expression morphed back in to the grumpy pout as she huffed and crossed her arms. "We'll be having a very long discussion when we get back to our rooms." What was she ever going to do with that child? She wondered sometimes if she needed a better role model than the soldiers she so easily manipulated at Vigil's Keep. Since Ethlen could get anything she wanted out of any one of them, she was beginning to assume she could eventually break Lyna down as well. She wasn't even a teenager yet. What sort of fresh hell would that be?

A couple hours passed and Ethlen had gone from stubbornly pouting on her feet to drawing Elvhen symbols on the floor…and scowling whenever she though Mamae was so much as glancing sidelong in her direction. When the last patient walked through the door, Anders cast a quick spell to cleanse the clinic and, opening the clinic's door, signaled for them to follow him. They crossed the landing outside the door and stepped in to the covered area just beyond where Lyna had been crouched just before entering his clinic earlier. There he revealed a magically hidden door.

"Where in the world does that lead?" She hissed, gripping Ethlen's hand a bit tighter.

Anders chuckled to himself. "The most dangerous place in Thedas."

"Then why are you taking us there?" She hissed again, her head jerking in the direction of the child accompanying them.

"You'll be safer there than you will be sneaking back to your rooms through the tunnels of Darktown after nightfall, I can guarantee you that," he teased. Lyna simply glared in his direction. Anders rolled his eyes. "Maker, the noble who lives there is a friend and a Ferelden and she couldn't care less if I come and go. In fact she prefers it, considering the number of Templars I have to hide from in this wretched city…not that her overly righteous and pious lover approves." That calmed her just enough and she nodded her agreement to follow. Once the door to Darktown was safely close, bolted and magically secured behind them, Lyna's shoulders relaxed and her grip on Ethlen's hand loosened.

Ethlen, still in a defiant mood, yanked her hand away and glared at her mother as she shook it out. "Don't squeeze my hand so tight Mamae!" she hissed.

"Then do as you're told, emm'felas asha," she rejoined. Though, perhaps calling her daughter a slow girl was not the best parenting form…but then she really had made a stupid choice when she sought out Anders alone, against Lyna's express demands. "Now, Anders and I have to talk about grown up things, so stay here in the foyer and behave yourself…I mean that," she insisted as Ethlen skulked off to sit by the fire.

"It's alright," Anders assured Lyna. "She won't come to any harm in this house…regardless of the rather hardened tenants…" he shrugged.

"Are said tenants at home?" She asked, looking around the foyer as they reached the top of the stairs. The main level of the house was nicer than anything she'd ever seen back in Ferelden. Even the noble's homes were all dark and grey. These walls were closer to marble and were a strange greyish blue that she had to admit she liked.

"Unlikely," He replied. "The Champion of Kirkwall is almost always off putting out this fire or that and helping to maintain the rather tenuous political situation in Kirkwall. She really only has this place because she'd have trouble influencing the nobles if she still lived in her old shack in Lowtown."

"Why do I get the distinct impression that you are mixed up in all of that?" She mused.

"Because where else would I be?" He smirked before leading her to the larder and helping himself to some cheese, a few slices of bread and two glasses of wine. Handing her one, he chuckled when she eyed it suspiciously. "I promise, Hawke won't mind a bit of food going missing…if she even notices. She has bigger problems…now, tell me all about the town drunk."

Lyna groaned. She really couldn't believe that was Alistair's reputation here. Regardless of his awkwardness, he had at least been accepted by those who knew him as a formidable warrior back home, and while Morrigan certainly never took him seriously, the rest of the country still knew it was better not to push him beyond the limits of his temper. Loghain may have survived their encounter, but only because of her own intervention, and only because she desperately needed to be sure his life would continue after the blight.

"His name is Alistair…" she started slowly, her eyes glued to the glass of wine before her. "…Theirin…" she finished, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

For Ander's part, he was bug eyed and speechless…but only for a second. "As in…?"

"As in," Lyna confirmed.

"Wait, wait, wait…the town drunk, who goes on and on about how he's a disgraced, traitorous prince…is exactly that?" When she nodded, Anders almost cackled.

"Well, he's not exactly a prince," Lyna amended. "He's Maric's son for sure, but he's a bastard and Maric never acknowledged him. He was raised by his uncle, Arl Eamon."

"The Queen's regent?" Anders asked, his eyes still as wide as saucers. "The one who hates you for reasons you refuse to share with anyone?"

Lyna shot him a stern look. "My problems with Eamon have no relation to my problems with Alistair." She said, effectively warning him off the subject. Anders shugged and waited on baited hook for her to continue the story he really cared about. She sighed, rubbed her temple and summoned the will to continue. "Alistair Theirin was the warden who fought alongside me and eventually deposed Teyrn Loghain before he was conscripted to the Wardens. When he refused to fight alongside the man who quit the field at Ostagar and left the Wardens and the King's men to perish against the first wave of the darkspawn hoard, Queen Anora exiled him. Politically, it was the right move; he was King Maric's son and had the potential to become a threat to her rule…but he never had any aspirations to rule. The only danger he posed was to Loghain himself, whom he'd sworn revenge against after the death of the previous Commander of the Grey, Duncan."

"So…If I may…there has to be more to this story," Anders prodded. "Why did you conscript Loghain anyway? After all, he died before the battle for Denerim was won. You'd have been much better off with a young soldier by your side than an old veteran…"

"Alistair…he was more to me than just a brother in arms…he was a friend…" She replied, trying to avoid giving Anders the dirty details that really were none of his business.

"He was your lover!" Anders declared. He may have been the worst sort of obnoxious as times, but no one could say that the healer wasn't smart. When her cheeks flushed and her eyes again dove deep in to the glass of wine, his eyes lit up with the full understanding of her situation. "No, he wasn't just your lover…you were in love, deeply in fact!"

"Yes, alright?" She hissed, gesturing at him to keep his voice down so Ethlen wouldn't hear…even though she was likely eavesdropping right around the corner anyway. "He was the love of my life and as far is he is concerned, I betrayed him in favor of Loghain, and he has no idea why."

"What?" Anders choked. "You mean he never asked and just disappeared right?"

"I may have misled him about my actual reasons…" She hesitated. Anders waved a hand to signal her to continue. She knew he wouldn't let it go until he had the complete story, and so sighing she relented. "Morrigan, the witch in our company, told me the archdemon's death would claim the life of whomever slayed it. How she knew this when no one else did…well, excepting Riordan—I don't know. She knew and she told me a couple weeks before the landsmeet and I knew that if he ever found out, he would find a way to keep me from the fight and take the final blow himself…" She sighed and rubbed her eyes, the ghosts of tears shed long ago prickling behind them. "I couldn't live in a world that didn't include him, so I tried everything in my power to push him away, to make him leave…I even flirted heavily with another man right in front of him. When nothing else worked, the landsmeet finally provided me with the ammunition I needed. Alistair might have loved me, but he would never serve beside Loghain so I conscripted Loghain and Alistair fled the kingdom."

There was a long silence as Anders let the story sink in. She imagined he was looking at her completely differently now; his stern, unyielding former commander was in fact a woman underneath her armor, and one wounded deeply by love at that. It was not a side of her that she cared to ever share with her men and so she had locked it up in the deepest darkest corner of her heart long ago. "Well…" He finally said, tossing back the last of his wine. "I must say, that explains why you always spurned my advances."

"Yes…" She replied, her eyes narrowing. "That…and dallying with subordinates is usually not a particularly good idea."

Anders shrugged. "So then I assume the reason you are searching for this Alistair is to reclaim your lost love?" he prodded.

Her eyes narrows further, daring him to continue teasing her. "No," she replied shortly. "Queen Anora has allowed him to return to Ferelden and I am accompanying Bann Teagan in place of Arl Eamon, who cannot be spared from court." That was a lie, but she hoped he would buy it. He eyed her, seemingly unconvinced, but for whatever reason, he let it slide.

"And where do I fit in to all of this?" He continued.

"We don't know where he's staying. Usually, I would simply beat it out of the locals, but the Viscount and the Guard Captain have rather insisted that I behave myself." She noticed the smirk that quirked his lips up in the corner, and her eyes narrowed yet again at the expression, but she continued. "I need you to approach him; take him some place where Bann Teagan can speak to him without him potentially running off again."

"Isn't this something that you could do yourself?" He asked, skepticism raising his eyebrow ever so slightly. He didn't understand, and why should he? Anders might be a runaway and a coward, but he had never betrayed anyone as grievously as she had Alistair. She felt no need to make him understand; understand how deeply she still loved that dolt of a man, how strongly she feared eventually having to face him, knowing that he might choose not to return if she revealed herself too early. Somewhere deep, deep down, in a place she had thus far refused to explore, she even harbored the hope that he would forgive her and possibly even lover her again someday…and the longer she went without facing him, the longer she could enjoy that tiniest spark of a wish she kept locked away, even from herself. Logically, she knew that was about as likely as her daughter becoming an agreeable teenager.

"He's done nothing wrong," She evaded. "He deserves to return to his home and seeing me would likely elicit the urge to do the exact opposite."

It was an explanation—not the one he was looking for, but it would suffice. He gave her one long look before standing up straight and nodding his head in agreement. "Very well," he replied. "I will help you bring the king's bastard home to Ferelden…on one condition."

"Name it," she nodded. Anders could not ask anything of her she was unprepared to give.

"When we are done here, the Wardens make no more claims on my time or place any further interest in my dealings," he replied.

It was not exactly a small request, he had a duty and she had conscripted him; technically she had a right to demand of him what she wished, but if she got Alistair in exchange for letting Anders go, that was a trade she was more than willing to make. She nodded her agreement, "Very well; once Alistair is home, our business is complete. The Grey Wardens will not impose on you again."

A/N: LONG chapter! Don't worry, another one is in progress. I just wanted to share this one before it got much later. Hope you all enjoy! For more information on what happened with Rolan, visit wiki/Anders_(short_story) to read a short story about Anders and Justice merging together, written by Jennifer Hepler, David Gaider's 2nd in command at Bioware.


	5. Chapter 4

Ven'irsera 4

Rum was good. Rum was always good…except when there was no more. He sighed as he lifted the bottle up to his eye and peered inside before turning it upside down and shaking it over his hand, as if that would magically prove that his eyes were fooling him and there was still plenty of the burning liquid left to drink. No such luck. He sighed loudly and allowed the empty bottle to clatter loudly to the wooden table in front of him. He wouldn't be escaping his demons tonight…

Today had been bad. Not that any of his days were ever particularly good…he'd managed to find a spot of work that morning escorting some shady merchant's questionable cargo from the docks right at the edge of Lowtown and Darktown—the one where all the bandits usually hung out—to a cave on the wounded coast. He'd not asked many questions. In Kirkwall, knowledge could make you either powerful or a target; if one knew too much, but couldn't properly defend themselves when assassins came to silence them, one would not survive for very long. For his part, he only ever asked as many questions as were necessary to complete the job at hand.

It wasn't as if he couldn't defend himself, quite the contrary actually; were he mildly sober once in a while he could likely command the greatest fees of any of Kirkwall's mercenaries…but then that kind of reputation would likely draw attention—attention he preferred to avoid. And so he hovered barely above the poverty level, taking odd jobs escorting cargo or killing lowlifes, or fetching (stealing) things for lesser nobles who couldn't afford to get their hands dirty, but still had their hands in plenty of dirty dealings. Usually his work afforded him a few silvers, possibly even a sovereign when he was lucky or the work was particularly nasty. Occasionally the Rivaini pirate woman who also frequented The Hanged Man would throw him a more extended assignment aboard her ship, and on those occasions he remained sober until the job was done…unlike himself, the Rivaini woman had a reputation and dangerous friends in high places. He chose to remain as close to her good side as he could for that reason alone. After those jobs, his coin purse was always heavy…heavier than any of the other mercs she hired actually, and he wondered a little if that wasn't because of their occasional…exertions together below deck. He chose not to ask and remain happy that he could drink more at the end of run on the Siren's Call rather than question whether or not he was overstepping that fine line of being a dalliance with a subordinate or something a great deal more shameful.

Nights like tonight, however, he would likely be sleeping in some stable somewhere—not as if he hadn't done that for a great portion of his childhood, so it was no hardship really—as he hadn't enough coin for a room at The Hanged Man, and furthermore, barely enough coin to become even halfway tossed. Without that, he knew he would be recalling his nightmares in the morning; the last reminder that he had once been a respectable warrior of the Grey Warden order…his head slumped to the table as he moaned pathetically about his state…his whole life really.

Tonight he had no coin because he had mucked up the first 'decent' job he'd had in weeks. One of the things he chose to never ask questions about was the cargo and that usually meant they had no problems…but today the cargo had clearly been alive. At first he told himself the thumping against the box was simply a few nugs stuffed too tightly in to the same crate…perhaps not the most humane way to treat the animals, but then it wasn't entirely likely that they would be making it past dinner anyway…except that he was escorting the crate to a rather dubious cave. Why would nugs be going to a cave in the first place? They were bought and sold for one reason, and that was food. And then there were the other noises, things that sounded distinctly like a woman's soft crying. By the time he reached the edge of the wounded coast he could take it no longer. Using his sword, he pried back the lid of the crate (having every intention of knocking the nugs on the head and resealing the crate) and laid eyes on the woman inside…or girl rather. She was too young to really be called a woman, but the merchant who was paying him to move her had bound her hands and feet and clearly dressed her up—or rather, down—and painted her face to sell her to men with less than honorable intentions…his own shock at discovering her was then compounded when she turned her head and her chestnut brown hair fell away from her large, beautiful, tear-soaked, _Elvhen_ eyes.

Bile rose in his throat as he pushed back from the crate as hard as he could. He doubled over as he dry heaved repeatedly over the dirt at his feet and involuntary tears cascaded down his cheeks from his stomach's effort to escape his body. A vision of a face, gleefully mischievous, passed before his mind's eye and he wrenched his head away from the echo of _Her_ mirthful laugh as it sounded in his ears. No, it was not _Her_ in that crate, he assured himself as he attempted to steady himself. _She_ would never have fallen victim to the worm of a man that he had taken money from just a couple short hours ago. This young elven woman was not even Dalish—clearly from some city or another, if not Kirkwall's own alienage—nor were her blue eyes anywhere near the same shade as the warm hazel one's dancing across his heart…but the moment he regained control of his physical reaction to the sight of her, he knew he would be returning the merchant's money…and possibly fighting for his life soon after.

Drying his eyes and wiping his mouth, he schooled his features in to a stern frown and approached the crate. Without making eye contact, he lifted his sword and reached inside. She jumped and pressed her body as far back in to the furthest corner of the crate and he paused. "I won't hurt you," He assured her softly before he took her hands and cut her bonds. "Go," he implored. "Run!" he yelled when she just stared at him in shock. She jumped again, but did as she was told this time and ran. Who knew what her fate was after that point, but he hadn't delivered one of _Her_ people in to slavery, and that was all that mattered.

And so here he sat, down to his last coppers, unable to afford so much as drink enough to chase off either his visions of _Her_ or the inevitable nightmares of darkspawn…his parting gift from his time as a Grey Warden. Don't want to be a Grey Warden, do you? Fine, but you're still tainted, enjoy the nightmares! Oh, and don't forget the truncated lifespan. How was _this_ the life he was living? He rolled his eyes before lifting his head off the table and crying out, "I'm the bloody _prince_ of Ferelden!"

A voice reached his ears from across the table. "He keeps saying that," it said laughingly. It was the Rivaini pirate woman, accompanied by a blond man carrying a staff.

"That piece of filth sent a mage to kill me?" Alistair slurred in disbelief before he broke out laughing. "Well that was stupid…doesn't he know I was a Templar? I mean I could just smite you and walk away…"

"I think it's true, actually…" The mage replied to the pirate lady before she shrugged and walked off. Then he turned his attention back on Alistair. "Ho there, Friend!" He cheered. It seemed a bit too cheerful, forced even, but then he was going to be murdered soon, so why did he care how fake the mage's cheerfulness seemed.

"Friend?" Alistair asked somewhat cynically. "So…you're not here to kill me then?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," the mage replied, with no small hint of irony (must have had something to do with the Templar comment) as he signaled the barkeep and within seconds a tankard of ale appeared before him. Like magic really…but he was a mage. Could mages do that? Maybe he just wasn't paying the best of attention. He was half drunk after all.

"Good," Alistair nodded. "I'm not entirely sure I'm up to the task of trying to kill you first." The mage grimaced his agreement as he surveyed Alistair with only thinly veiled disgust.

"Indeed…" the mage finally replied.

"What is it with you mages?" Alistair demanded almost out of nowhere. "It's always 'Alistair's dumber than the dog,' and 'cower before me, puny humans, while I suck you in to my black fade portal of doom!' and now here you are, indeed-ing me while I attempt to enjoy what may very well be the last drink I ever have…and you don't even know me!" He was whining, quite pathetically in fact, and considering the day's events, he couldn't much bring himself to care. He did pause for a moment to reconsider the order in which he had placed the above infractions to his being…being sucked in to the fade by a sloth demon probably outranked being indeed-ed by a stranger…

The mage sighed and rubbed his temple before plastering the smile back on his face. "I apologize, I did not mean to condescend," the mage replied. "My name is Anders," he was doing the pleasant act again… "Someone recently told me that you were once a Grey Warden and I was hoping to buy you a drink."

That piqued his interest a bit. "I'm sorry, you heard I _used_ to be a warden and you want to buy me a drink because…because I was, or because I no longer am? Not that I won't take the drink of course," he replied.

"Let's just say I used to be a Grey Warden too," Anders replied as he signaled the barkeep again and this time a drink appeared in front of Alistair.

Alistair smiled woozily at the ale sitting in front of him for a moment before the conversation he was currently engaged in popped back in to his consciousness. "Wait, so how did you _used_ to be a Grey Warden? I was under the impression that once you were in there was no getting out."

Anders stared at him as if the stupidity of the question might make his head explode with pain. "I don't know," Anders finally answered, his voice bordering on irritation. "How did you manage to leave without being hunted down and brought right back?"

Alistair snorted as he slurped at his tankard. "_Warden Commander's_ probably too busy stabbing backs," he replied putting extra snide into his voice when he used her title.

"We must have served under different commanders then, because mine would go to the ends of the world to hunt you down." It seemed for a moment as if there were a double meaning to that sentence…He chose to ignore that suspicion in favor of more ale.

"She find you yet?" He asked as he emptied the tankard and Anders signaled for another, this time for both of them.

"Unfortunately, yes," Anders grumbled, looking rather pointedly back at him. This mage was certainly an odd one…but he was also certain he'd elicited similar comments over the years. In fact he distinctly remembered being called a very strange human once upon a time.

"So when do you go back?" Alistair asked, now just making polite, if garbled, conversation. He'd keep it up as long as the man continued to buy his booze.

"Oh, I won't be going back," Anders assured him with a confident smile. "We came to a deal; I have to help her collect a few things, but then I'm free to do as I please…I'm not as important to her as what she came to procure, apparently."

"I know how that goes," Alistair groused. "I mean the sheer number of times _Commander_ Lyna Mahariel felt that she was right or knew better or had something more important…You know what?" Alistair interrupted himself. "Not my problem anymore, right?"

Anders choked back a laugh, presumably agreeing with his exuberant declaration of their freedom from _vigilance_, before he raised his own cup in agreement. "Nor mine," He finished with a bemused grin before throwing back the rest of his ale. Anders made a face of disgust as he set the tankard down and continued, "Well I for one cannot drink another drop of this swill…care to head up to Hightown with me? I know an inn where the ale is much sweeter and the patrons are decidedly more interesting."

Alistair smiled and nodded his agreement. "Who am I to argue as long as you're buying?"

"Right…" Anders sighed as he led Alistair out the door and up towards Hightown. Perhaps this day wouldn't end up being so terrible after all! He'd never been treated to fine ales in Hightown, let alone by a brother of the order who just happened to also be a deserter. In fact, the evening was turning out to be quite wonderful! He was nearly to that point of drunkenness where he would be able to pass out on some random bale of hay and sleep dreamlessly the whole night through. The morning would bring with it a certain level of pain he was not prepared to think about just yet…but then he had just made friends with a mage…perhaps he had a magical cure for hangovers…he'd have to ask.

The inn they entered in Hightown wasn't exactly what he had expected…when Anders had said the patrons were decidedly more interesting, he had expected to see nobles sloshed out of their minds and carrying on like Mabari puppies at feeding time. Instead, the tavern on the ground floor of the inn was about as sleepy as a bed and breakfast. The patrons seated in the pub were wealthy evening travelers, finishing their meals before heading up to their rooms for a hopefully uneventful night's sleep before they continued on their journeys in the morning. "I thought you said this place would be interesting?" Alistair almost pouted.

"Oh it is," Anders assured him. Alistair wasn't sure he was drunk enough to believe that…but then Anders pushed another tankard of ale in to his hands and, taking a sip, he shrugged. The ale was certainly better so maybe Anders just had odd tastes in companions. After all, he was going out of his way to befriend Alistair…for the barest moment it occurred to him that he ought to be more suspicious of this man. If he were in Denerim where people might have had the faintest inkling of his royal lineage, he might have worried more. Here, everyone thought he was raving mad when he said he was a prince. His constantly disheveled appearance probably went a long way in aiding that assumption.

It was at that moment that he looked up from his stein and realized Anders had lead him up to one of the rooms above the tavern. It was a very finely appointed room with lush silks and plush cushions, windows looking out over the harbor and on towards the waking sea…it was quite the romantic setting actually…oh no…

"Oh dear…" he muttered as he turned around to face Anders, who was smiling triumphantly, locking and placing a magical seal across the heavy wooden door behind him…the only door in the entire room. "Wow, um…Listen Anders, you've been great company and I really can't thank you enough for all the drinks…especially this one here in my hand—it's actually possibly the best ale I've ever had—but I feel like I should probably tell you that I don't generally tend to lean in the direction, er…that is to say I haven't ever previously…with, well you know. I just have a _very_ strong personal preference for the ladies…as opposed to the men, and I'm one hundred percent sure that you are a beautiful specimen of a man for anyone who would prefer to float that particular boat, but I just don't see you—"

"Maker, _do _shut up!" Anders finally demanded, having reached his patience' limits. "And believe me when I say you are not my type."

"Then you _are_ here to murder me then…"Alistair concluded almost glumly. So much for making new friends…

"Andraste's tits! I am not here to murder you either," Anders snapped.

"…Then…" he was so confused. "Why am I here?"

A knock sounded on the door and Anders sent a look of thanks towards the ceiling before turning, releasing the seal and allowing an older man, about Alistair's height with greying red hair to enter. Bann Teagan. Anders gave the man a look—one that might have told a sober Alistair that this was the first time the two men had met and that Anders approved of what he saw—before he simply said to the man, "And after this, I'll hear no more from you?"

Teagan shifted a bit uncomfortably under the appraising gaze but nodded and replied, "Not so much as a word, thank you for your assistance in this."

Anders looked vaguely disappointed, but he continued on cooly as ever, "Be sure to remind the Commander of this should she at some point consider changing her mind." And with that he mage was gone, though the seal over the door remained in place. Brilliant. He was trapped in a room with Teagan...so much for his day getting better.


	6. Chapter 5

The room was utterly silent, and for once, Alistair felt no need to fill the void. The sound of fire rushing through his veins was already more noise than he could bear, actually. As much as Teagan had done nothing to hurt him in the days leading up to his exile from Ferelden, he'd certainly done nothing to stop it. Nor had Eamon. Nor had any of the rest of his companions—not even Wynne, who he could have sworn liked him—but then only Morrigan ever seemed willing to challenge their leader on anything and Morrigan was none too fond of him. But his thoughts were wandering. And he was drunk. Maker, this was the worst possible time for his past to confront him.

Teagan gave him the once over, disapproval written all over his face. That only served to stoke his temper further. "You really are a mess, you know," Teagan finally said, sighing heavily as he shook his head and walked to one of the plush chairs off in the corner of the large suite and sat down. "I mean really Alistair, what a waste," he continued as he leaned into the arm of the chair and rubbed his temple with the arm rested there.

"Disappointed in me, Teagan?" Alistair smirked as he swayed in place, though there was no mirth there.

Teagan looked back up at the man who he had once believed shown such potential. There was a long pause as he took in the sight of his brother's ward, drunk and dejected, again. He seemed to be having trouble reconciling this man with the eager young warden he'd seen during the blight. "Disappointed in your choices, perhaps."

The look of pity written across Teagan's face was more than his current temperment could take and he shouted, "I wasn't given a choice!" He stabbed his finger in Teagan's direction just to emphasize the point…before stumbling two paces to the left.

Teagan nodded patiently, having obviously expected this argument from him. His patient acceptance of Alistair's interpretation only served to add fuel to his rage. "I suppose you might see it that way…on the other hand, you chose to leave rather than do your duty as a Grey Warden in spite of your hatred for Loghain. That was a choice…if a poor one."

"Hah!" He barked as he threw back his head. The action sent the world around him into a tailspin and for a moment he wasn't sure he'd be able to maintain his spiteful composure. He slammed his open palm against the bed post next to him to steady himself. It had the added effect of punctuating his irony laden laughter. "That is rich, Teagan. Really, it is…Lyna Mahariel knew exactly what she was about when she chose Loghain over me." Teagan's brow's furrowed as if to say 'enlighten me' and Alistair couldn't help but snort in response. "She, more than anyone, knew I could never fight beside that murderer! Maker knows why, but she chose him to drive me away…well guess what!? She got what she wanted!"

Teagan exhaled a deeply pained sigh, rubbing his temples again. "I suppose she did…" Teagan nodded, his tone tightening, indicating he was reaching the end of his patience. Teagan's refusal to engage in the conflict that Alistair was attempting to wage was nearly as infuriating as the memories of an infuriatingly detached Lyna coolly informing him that Loghain would go through the joining despite his wishes. He hadn't fought against the tides of fate back then, but if the Maker had decided he wanted Alistair back on Ferelden soil…well he had another thing coming this time.

Alistair slammed his palm against the bedpost again and yelled, "What in the void is that supposed to mean!?" Teagan flinched ever so slightly before the muscles in his neck tensed, and Alistair smiled, glad to see he was having more effect on the older man's composure than he had previously believed.

Almost out of the blue, Teagan shot to his feet and marched up to Alistair so that their faces were only inches apart. Alistair nearly stumbled back under the drunken assumption that the man intended to tackle him to the ground…thankfully he held his ground and managed to maintain something of his dignity…not that there was much there to be had. Teagan's eyes came up to meet Alistair's and there he saw a spark of righteous anger he'd never once seen in the man before. "What it means, Alistair _Theirin_," Teagan nearly spat the name, though whether it was meant to pointedly remind him of his lineage or to point out how much he had sullied it, he was unsure. "Is that I will not sit here and be the scapegoat for your misplaced sense of betrayal, nor will I be made to answer for the wrongs you believe yourself to have been dealt." Alistair's eyes must have been wide with shock because Teagan's own eyes widened a little when he realized his own lapse in self-control. He quickly pulled back, straightened his jacket before walking past the younger man. Halfway between the door and where Alistair stood, he paused. "I did not come to fight with you, Alistair…" he said simply, only the barest hint of tension still present in his voice. "I came to let you know that you may return to Ferelden whenever you please. Queen Anora has agreed to end your exile…the wards on this room will remain in place for the next day, hopefully that will give you the necessary amount of time to think about it…properly," he informed him, placing extra emphasis on the final word. Ahh…so he was meant to sober up…

Without another word, Teagan left, letting the door shut firmly behind him.

The room was silent, save for the crackling fire in the hearth and the night noise of the Hightown streets outside. Normally, he would simply draw on his Templar training and cleans the area and be gone, but drunk as he was, he'd have a hard time accomplishing a cleanse, let alone something more simplistic like a simple sword flurry. Maybe if he had some lyrium…but considering his current addictions, it might be wise to avoid adding further vices to the list. There was something to be said for not becoming a drooling wandering Darktown, seeking his next fix. He also highly doubted that Teagan had left the room unguarded, and it had been far too many years since he had experienced a proper battle…he would probably lose before he even managed to get himself appropriately injured. It wasn't the end of the world anyway; Teagan had simply confined him for a day to make sure he thought long and hard about whether or not he wished to return to Ferelden before descending back in to his cups. The room was nicer than any he had slept in for months…if not years…what was the harm in taking advantage of a comfortable and safe place to sleep? Maker knew his head would not thank him in the morning, but it wasn't as if it would be the first time he'd had to forgo the drink, whether it was because he had a job the next day, or because his money from the last job had simply dried up.

Having decided to at least take advantage of the free room and board, if nothing else, Alistair finally began to really look at his surroundings. The building itself was fairly typical of Hightown; the floors and walls and ceilings were all stone, and the windows were all long slim vertical things that barely let enough light in to see when the sun was at its zenith. What light there was in the room was supplied by the fire in the hearth and the handful of candlesticks spread throughout the room. Across from the fire was the plushest of beds he had seen since leaving Denerim, however, instead of being draped with furs and pelts, this one was made up with Orlesian silks. It looked beyond inviting and the day had more than worn on him…while he loathed the idea of taking advantage of Teagan's so called hospitality—simply for the sake of his pride—he also wasn't feeling particularly prideful now that the man had left the room. Chalk it up to the drink…

Stifling a yawn, he staggered towards the bed and, giving it one last dubious glare, fell in to it. He was likely unconscious before he even hit the mattress and the sleep that followed was mercifully dreamless.

The next morning was not so merciful.

He woke that morning to the sound of hushed voices arguing in the hallway and the feeling of tiny mages firebombing his stomach and dwarven war hammers pummeling the inside of his skull. Usually this would be the point in the day where he would rise and seek out the hair of the dog, but being confined to the room as he was, he groaned as he realized there would be no such cure this morning. He would simply have to suffer the consequences his actions had wrought.

"But Mamae, why is this my job?" One voice demanded a little louder before it was shushed by the other. The first voice was female, clearly on the younger end and softly accented, mostly on the Dalish word for mother.

"Because da'len, I can't be involved in this…not yet," came the answering voice. This one was much softer and it effectively disguised the voice's true tone, but the stronger Dalish accent was clear enough. That seemed off to Alistair; the Dalish clan living on Sundermount never so much as stepped foot within a mile of Kirkwall…well, except for that one elf mage down in the alienage—how the templars hadn't locked her up yet was completely beyond him—but then many things were these days. He'd stopped attempting to influence, or even understand anything pertaining to politics or religion since his exile. Life was more predictable that way.

"I don't understand…why can you not be involved in trying to help someone you lo-" the first voice began before the second cut it off.

Emma'tu elvarel! Emma'him isala'tisha…" His Dalish was too rusty to make out the full meaning, but he suspected the harsh words equated to the Dalish way of telling someone to shut up and mind their own business. Boots stalked down the stairs just beyond his room's door and a moment later a skinny elven girl with honeyed hair and mossy green eyes entered the room carrying a tray of food. She couldn't be any more than ten years old and yet Teagan (or someone) appeared to have her delivering Alistair's breakfast to him. That seemed irresponsible; what if he had been a dangerous criminal?

"Who are you?" He asked, suspicion and curiosity both nagging at his throbbing mind.

"My name is Ethlen," She replied, bowing her head and curtseying slightly. Her voice was soft and her presence entirely too unimposing for her to have been a real threat to anyone, but something about her told him she had more going on under the surface than a soft serving manner. She certainly had enough defiance in her spirit to question the Dalish woman she had just argued with as to why she had to serve him, so it was unlikely she was a serving girl at the inn.

"That's a nice name," He groaned as he sat up…and then immediately laid back down when the world spun and his head and stomach screamed in protest.

"Please Ser," The little elf said. "Don't worry about formalities with me. I've taken care of lots of Mamae's men after they've drank too much in the village. It's never pretty when they push themselves to behave formally around me." She smiled as she chattered.

Mamae's men…village? When did Dalish women start holding rank and commanding soldiers in or even near villages in Thedas? That was news to him. Sure, he'd kept his head buried in the sand for the past several years but he would have thought that news like that would have made its way to Lowtown, and most certainly the Alienage. "Who is your mother, exactly?" Alistair asked, genuinely intrigued now—and in no small way even more suspicious than he had been before.

Ethlen laughed a little and leveled him with a pitying smile. "I'm not allowed to say," she replied. He watched her, waiting for further explanation, but none followed.

"Well then can you tell me more about yourself?" He asked, hoping he might be able to glean more information from the details of the child's life. "I mean, you _are_ helping Teagan hold me captive…the least you could do is entertain me while I'm stuck here."

Ethlen eyeballed him, clearly aware of what he was trying to get out of her. She was smart for a girl her age, no doubt about that. "I might answer some questions…" She hedged. "But no more than twenty and only the ones that I want to answer. And if I chose not to answer, you will still have used one of your questions." She informed him sternly, pointing her finger at him as if scolding a child.

Alistair raised his hands in surrender. "Fair enough, you _are_ the jailer here," he replied before bringing his hand down to rub his chin pensively. Truthfully, he did have to consider his questions carefully so as to hopefully gather some information about her and her mother without her realizing it. She might be sharp for a child, but she was still a child. "Well then I suppose my first question would be your place of birth. Are you a city elf or Dalish? I did hear you speaking in Dalish with someone else outside, but you don't really have an accent except when you speak the common tongue."

"I was born in a city," She replied but didn't supply any other information. So it was to be a game of twenty questions then…silently he began re-wording his questions and moving around and scratching out others.

"Did your mother teach you the Dalish tongue?" he asked.

Ethlen paused to consider her answer, before replying, "It's unlikely, but I don't really remember her, so it's possible that she taught me a word or two." So the woman outside that she had referred to as Mamae was not in fact her true mother. That meant he couldn't rely on the child's appearance to guess the mother's. Chances are the child had no knowledge of her father either. His head throbbed—he really shouldn't be attempting brain games this early, nor this hung over. She smiled piteously as he winced and quickly fished something out of her satchel. "Here, drink this," She instructed. "It's the tonic the healer gives me to give to the men when they are too sick from drink to go on missions." He nodded his thanks and tossed it back before grimacing at the taste of the foul liquid.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he returned to their question game. "So you and your Mamae speak Dalish, do you practice Dalish traditions as well?"

Ethlen shrugged. "Some, not all." So Mamae likely no longer lived amongst her clansmen, otherwise she would observe all Dalish practices. That would explain taking in a city elf and raising her in something close to but not entirely reflective of Dalish customs. He was suddenly somewhat grateful for all of Lyna's preaching about the Dalish in the early stages of their acquaintance.

"Like what?" He probed.

Ethlen shrugged again. "I'm to be dedicated and receive my vallaslin soon, but we celebrate the common Andrastean holidays for the sake of the men. Mamae would prefer to celebrate Dalish holidays as well, but she thinks the men would start getting too fat to fight." Alistair had to laugh at that. Yes, too many holidays in one's year might in fact cause problems on the battlefield.

Suddenly, he realized that the pain in his head and stomach were gone and that he was sitting in bed in last night's clothing suspiciously questioning a child. Apparently sense and modesty also returned with sobriety and he flushed a little at his current state. He might not care what the drunks at The Hanged Man thought of him, nor what those who hired him thought beyond believing he was up to the tasks they paid him for, but small children doing the bidding of formerly Dalish adoptive mothers who commanded men and were most likely contracted by Bann Teagan to keep him confined in his room should the barrier around the room fail…well he appreciated Ethlen's naiveté and candor a bit too much to appear the drunken lout in front of her. "Well," He mused. "I feel as if I should get cleaned up before we continue this. I do believe that was four questions, correct?"

"Five now," She informed him. His jaw dropped—so much for naiveté. She giggled at his response, but didn't apologize or take it back.

"Hey now," Alistair protested. "That's not fair!"

"Who ever said that life is fair?"

"Is that something your Mamae says to you when you're upset?"

"Six now!" She smiled.

He huffed in response. "How am I supposed to talk to you if I can't ask any questions?"

"And that makes seven," She giggled again when his eyebrows drew together in irritation. "You should probably stop wasting your questions, you know."

This damned mischievous little imp was more than smart, and he was ashamed to find himself being outwitted by her. Morrigan would have a field day with this if she were here to witness it. "Very well, then I'll ask you no more questions, just statements. I'm going to bathe and change and eat that breakfast, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," She grinned evilly, but didn't move. They just stared at each other across the space between, him waiting for her to leave and her waiting for him to ask. He glared at her and waved a hand towards the door to signal his invitation to leave, but she simply cackled in childish glee. He would have to use another question if he intended to undress and bath himself in privacy, and that was exactly what she was angling at. Scratch what he said about just being smart, the girl was cunning and even slightly vicious with it.

Seconds ticked by as they continued to stare at each other. Finally, he'd had enough. "Fine, I'll ask!" He pouted. "Will you please leave me so I can freshen up?"

Victorious, Ethlen smiled and nodded her agreement before nearly skipping out of the room. It was a foolish thing to be irate over, and he couldn't really claim true irritation; it was just a game, and now that he was sober he could simply cleanse the magic holding him here and fight his way past the guards…once he was sure the girl was gone, of course. No sense in hurting a child simply because her mother had the poor judgment to bring her along on a mission. From what information he had gathered from the girl, he suspected the mother must be some sort of mercenary like himself, but unlike himself, one who worked for high paying clients like Bann Teagan and commanded a large fee since she was able to keep a healer and command men…there was, of course, another option as to who the woman keeping him under house arrest could be, but then that one seemed unlikely, and furthermore entirely undesirable. He chose not to think on that possibility. Like he'd said, highly unlikely—Lyna could have no use for the man she'd betrayed unless she were scheming to overthrow Anora—something Grey Warden's weren't supposed to do, anyway—and Teagan had expressly stated that Anora was the one who was lifting his exile. Not that he had any intention of returning. He wasn't landed, nor titled, and the only things either Eamon or Teagan could offer him was a place among the soldiers of either Redcliffe or Rainesfere where he'd be doing the exact same things he did here, except he would have to remain sober and therefor suffer his taint driven nightmares. And with his luck, there was more than a slim chance that he would come in to contact with Lyna Mahariel once there. No, there was no option. His exile might be over, but he would not return. He'd rather waste away in Kirkwall than return to that…

But there was still food here to be eaten, so he might as well eat. Especially considering Teagan appeared to have remembered his unholy love of fine cheeses and stacked the plate high with a plethora of cheeses to choose from. Then he would bathe and then he would dress, and then he would tear down Ander's barrier and be on his merry way!


	7. Chapter 6

"Mamae, I don't understand why you won't just go up there," Ethlen said as she sat down beside her mother in the tavern to begin her own breakfast.

"Because Teagan wants him to come home, and if he sees me he won't. It's as simple as that," She replied, her voice a little harsher than it needed to be, but Ethlen had latched on to this topic last night like a wolf to its prey. Since the first moment Lyna had refused to enter the room, she'd been so full of questions and eager curiosity that it was making Lyna lose her mind.

"Then why did we come here at all? Won't he have to see you when we all get back on the ship to go home? Won't that be worse than seeing you now? When he realizes that we're keeping things from him, he'll be even madder than if you just went up there now." The girl argued over mouthfuls of sausage and egg.

"I know da'len!" Lyna hissed loudly, before lowering her voice again. "I didn't exactly think that far ahead when I agreed to this trip…I was a little overwhelmed at the prospect of having found him alive at all," she admitted. She hoped that would answer the girl's questions, but it seemed to only give her more.

"Why? It's not like this is the first time you've dragged a warden back to Ameranthine," She reasoned.

What Ethlen failed to realize, mostly because it was a part of the job that Lyna expressly forbid she ever discover from anyone, was that duty to the Grey Wardens was a little more complicated than simply choosing to stay or choosing to go. As a Grey Warden you swore a blood oath to be vigilant, an oath that could not be foresworn. She'd learnt the seriousness of the oath the night she'd gone through the joining and watched as Duncan mercilessly murdered Ser Jory after he'd watched Daveth fail the joining. As commander she understood it even more when Nathaniel told her of his Grandfather who had joined the wardens and then disappeared, likely falling during his own joining. An unspoken part of that oath was to keep the order's secrets and it was agreed amongst the various Commanders of the Grey that a deserter was unlikely to keep those secrets. She had a duty as commander to keep the warden's ranks flush, to recruit the best men, and she could not do that if men were too afraid to go through the joining.

And so, when she hunted down deserters, they either returned with her, or they died. She'd killed people for refusing to return to the order. She hoped she was less of a tyrant about it than Duncan had been, making an effort to clearly explain to the deserter what their options were. They could return and all would be as it had been before, but if they did not return they would die. And perhaps they would best her and perhaps they would best the next warden to come for them, but they would spend their lives running, only to eventually either meet their end in the deep roads or go mad from the taint anyway. Wouldn't it be a better use of their lives to serve proudly like the rest of their brethren?

In the end, they usually came back—it was simply logical—and they were greeted by their brothers and sisters as if they'd simply been away on a mission. For the most part, that's what the men and women who served her believed had happened anyway. It was a very select group of people who knew about the desertions and how they were resolved.

And then there was this situation…what would Alistair have done if she had simply let him have his vengeance and killed Loghain? Supposing they both had somehow managed to survive the Battle of Denerim, he would likely have spent his life next to her, loving her and leading the Grey Wardens of Ferelden and campaigning all over Thedas. He would never have turned his back on his duties if it weren't for the choices she had made during the blight. She could not execute a man for that. For moment, she let her mind linger on what life might have been like had she not been too afraid to lose him…

"Mamae?" Ethlen prodded when she realized her mother had drifted off in to her own thoughts rather than simply refused to answer the question.

"Abelas da'mi, I was somewhere else," she smiled wearily. Ethlen could probably guess where her thoughts had taken her, and so she pretended not to notice when Ethlen rolled her eyes and went back to chattering around her breakfast.

Much as she hated to admit it, Ethlen was right. The situation before them would only get worse the longer she waited to step in. Yesterday Teagan had put the offer on the table and now it was up to her to do whatever it was he thought she could do to encourage Alistair to come home. Truly, she hadn't the foggiest notion of what she could offer him that he wouldn't throw right back in her face and for that reason she intended to give him the day to consider Teagan's offer. She'd only go in to the room an hour or so before the barrier would expire—assuming of course that he hadn't managed or cared to cleanse the room of Ander's magic before then—and simply let him know that, if he wanted, he would always be welcome at Vigil's Keep.

They sat in silence after that, Ethlen alternately practicing her penmanship and drawing the strangest Mabari like doodles, Lyna reading and responding to the many letters she'd brought with her from her Banns and nobles and commoners alike requesting the aid of the wardens in this that or the other. There was of course the obligatory letter from Lord Dace detailing their latest excursion in to the deep roads. He sent them weekly, and she had little doubt there would be at least a few waiting for her when they finally arrived back at the keep. In addition there were letters from the men she had hired to excavate and repair Soldier's Peak complaining of hauntings and demanding further compensation. These demands were of course ignored, yet again, lyna having personally visited Soldier's Peak several times after Alistair, Morgan, Zevran and Leliana had cleared it all those years ago. The ruin might be creepy, but it was no longer haunted.

As if thoughts of him had brought it on, she suddenly felt the tingle of a templar's cleanse wash over her seconds before she heard the distinct sound of a body crashing through a locked door. So much for giving him the day, she thought as she stood and her hands found the twin hilts of her dar'misu. Ethlen made to stand, but the warning look from Lyna sent her right back in to her chair.

She heard the guards placed outside the doors shout as they struggled and quickly failed to hold him, but then Alistair had never been easily subdued by shear force alone. One had to be quicker, more precise. You had to know where to duck and dodge and exactly which spot to hit to put a man of his size down. She heard one unconscious body tumbled down the stairs and then it was shortly followed by another. She remained calm, willing her heart to slow its beat, her hands to stop shaking and her nerve to steady. On some deep, nearly unnoticed level she cursed herself for fearing facing this man more than another broodmother.

And then there he was in front of her, towering and threatening, but entirely taken aback and unsure of what to think or do. "Y-You…" He managed to finally stutter before the hilt of her blade connected with his temple and he went down. There was a gash on the side of the head—she had not been gentle—and it would bleed quite a bit and he would be entirely unhappy when he awoke, but he wouldn't be getting away again. She'd let Teagan try to woo him with kind words and a comfortable bed, but it had clearly had no effect. She was surprised, though, that he had managed to escape his room this quickly. She'd believed the pain of his hang over would prevent him from managing any use of his skills until later in the day. This was the reason she'd told Anders not to bother with anything more taxing.

The guards were not out for long, and when they came to they picked the larger man up and dragged his limp body back to the room he'd previously occupied. "Please tie him up this time?" She called after them before dropping a heavy purse on the bartender's counter. "You saw nothing," She warned the barkeep. He nodded vigorously as Lyna waved her hand at Ethlen to follow and headed up the stairs.

She worked quickly, unsure of how long he would remain unconscious. From her own rooms she brought a heavy wooden chair—it was more akin to a throne, really—and rope and as soon as the guards had sat him in the chair she quickly bound his wrists and ankles to it. At the same time, the guards and the inn's staff worked quickly to replace the door on its hinges as best they could. It didn't fit quite right, and the rest of the patrons would likely hear every screaming painful word that passed between them if other actions were not quickly taken.

"Ethlen!" she called.

"Yes Mamae?" She answered, seemingly not phased by the raucousness. She'd seen her mother take down Qunari twice Alistair's size before in the sparring ring, and Lyna supposed this wasn't much different in the end.

"Go figure out how much coin the innkeeper wants to clear out his inn for the rest of the day and then go get it from Bann Teagan. If he doesn't have enough to cover it, tell the innkeeper that the Hero of Ferelden will be sure to see he is compensated appropriately."

Ethlen nodded and hurried off to do as she was asked. She knew well enough when her mother was about business and would brook no arguments. When Lyna heard the last of the patrons exit the building, she sighed heavily and dismissed the guards. This wasn't just warden business—something they had no business being involved in anyway—it was also personal and if their fights of years past were any indication, this would be loud, long, and highly emotional. She didn't want anyone see her like that that didn't need to.

With that, she grabbed the rag and bucket of wash water one of the inn's staff had brought her during the commotion, wet the rag and then gently, diligently began to wash away the blood that by now had dried down the side of his face. She took what would probably be the last quiet moment she had with him to study his face. He hadn't changed so much if one looked past the longer floppy hair, the stubble on his chin and the deep circles under his eyes. His frame was smaller than it used to be, likely the product of underuse and overindulgence. He hadn't yet started to put on weight so he must have managed to find some form of work that kept him physically active. Anders had mentioned he knew Alistair sometimes worked for a friend of his, a pirate named Isabella. She wondered if it was the same Isabella who had taught her the duelist's skills in Denerim. It was more than likely, and it would therefore make sense that she would occasionally hire Alistair. His clothes were the biggest change; gone was the plate armor and the leathers and linens underneath, and in their place were clothes she imagined must have been quite fine at some point. Perhaps they were a gift from a wealthy merchant he'd worked for, or a necessity for escorting some nobleman or noblewoman for the day. Maybe they were even a remnant of an earlier time when he had first arrived and wanted to fit in and be someone the nobility respected, rather than whispered about behind his back. Whatever the reason for owning such finery was, it clearly hadn't lasted and the clothes were wrinkled and dirty and torn. She supposed he must have other clothes and possibly even armor stashed away somewhere, especially if he was taking mercenary work, but it was likely she would never know.

As she rinsed the rag and brought it back to his face, he began to wake and then flinched under her hand. Then, as he flinched the memory of what had just happened downstairs must have come flooding back and he snapped upright into a rigid stance, glaring fire and ice at her as if she…as if she had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

"What do you want," he spat as he struggled against the bonds on his wrists and ankles.

She wouldn't yell back, not at him, not after what she had done. Well, at the least, she would keep her composure as long as she could. She understood too well what he must think of her. "To talk, if that's alright." She replied, her voice calm and soft.

"What could you possibly have to say to me that you haven't already said?" He sneered.

"That I'm sorry I hurt you." It wasn't much. She knew it wouldn't be enough, but maybe, just maybe he'd been away long enough to start forgiving old hurts.

"A little late on that, aren't you?" He laughed bitterly. Apparently not long enough.

"No…" She replied taking a deep breath before she continued. "I knew what I was doing when I did it. And I would do it again."

He seemed somehow caustically amused by that. "Sorry, failing to see how this is an apology."

She nodded, knowing that he would see it that way, but maybe if she explained it better… "I loved you too much to watch you die and it was just the two of us against the archdemon and it was the only way I knew of to keep you safe."

"Really…" He drawled out the word long and hard. "You stabbed me in the back because you loved me too much…" and then he threw his head back against the back of the chair and barked out one loud disbelieving laugh. "That has got to be the best worst excuse I have heard in my entire life!" He then leaned in, his amusement darkening in to something almost frightening. "You let the man who spent months trying to kill us—after he DID kill every member of our order in Ferelden—fight alongside you against the archdemon rather than someone you loved and trusted because, and yet again I quote, 'you loved me to much'" He shook his head in disbelief as leaned back in to the chair again. "And on top of that, you're not really sorry because you'd do it all over again if you had to."

"I saw the man we both hated to his death!" She insisted, her calm demeanor slipping. He was trying to provoke her, but then she always rose gloriously to the occasion, so really who could blame him. "When we faced the dragon and it was apparent that Urthemiel was beaten, Loghain ran for the dragon and I ran for him. I ran him through the back with a Saw Sword and let him die moments before he could achieve the redemption he and Anora wanted."

"Too little too late," Alistair sniffed in contempt.

"What do you want from me, Alistair?" She cried. "I cannot change the past."

"Wouldn't that be a nifty trick!" His voice suddenly full of mirth and excitement she knew he didn't feel. Then his expression changed again in to that cruel smile he'd been pinning her with since the conversation began. "Maybe I'd go back and let you succumb to the taint out in the Wilds like you deserve!"

A crack sounded throughout the room as her hand made contact with his face. Tears pricked at her eyes an threatened to spill down her face. How could he say that to her? How could he say that he'd rather that she had died in the Wilds than never known a moment of the happiness they had once found in each other. How…? And that's when she realized…he'd never been told why it took a warden to kill an arch demon either.

"You have no idea what I saved you from, do you?" She was still hurt and angry by his words, but she was determined to see this out. She would not go home until she was certain there was nothing else to say between them.

"If it was a sword in the back, then yeah, I can guess," He snarked. No, he was entirely in the dark.

Lyna took a deep breath to calm her nerves, but it did little to help. "The death of the archdemon kills the warden who slays it." She stated plainly and simply.

"What?!" He choked. Well at least she had him off guard there.

"You don't have quite so much to say now do you?" She snipped back, though she realized the moment he spoke again that her snide little remark had not helped matters.

"You're lying," He accused, dismissing the claim before it had even been allowed to settle in his mind. "If that were true you would be just as dead as Loghain…" He continued. "Or maybe he killed the beast and you just decided to take credit for it. After betraying your lover, I can see how taking credit for someone else's victory would seem like a fairly minor infraction."

She clenched her jaw and attempted to remain cool. "…Morrigan knew a way around it…" she supplied, though her voice was clearly just as tense as ever.

"That's convenient, now isn't it," He smirked.

"Fine, Alistair, you know what?" She cried, finally giving up and throwing her hands in the air. "Don't believe me. No one else in the entire order does, so why should you?"

"No reason I can think of," He shrugged nonchalantly, stoking the fire coursing through her blood even higher. Now he was intentionally picking at her last nerve. And it was working.

"Creators, must you always have the final word!" She yelled this time.

"Just when I'm around you, love," He sneered, and then he even winked. Creators, if she didn't leave she'd do more than slap him, but her pride wasn't about to let her leave without doing at least some damage to the man who had been verbally attacking her since the start.

"I don't know what I was thinking, agreeing to come here with Teagan. Clearly you are just as childish as you ever were," She snapped as she braced her hands on the arms of his chair, right next to his arms. She saw him bristle at the near contact and she chalked up a point for herself on her mental score board. "Do you want to know why I really chose Loghain over you?" She hissed in his face. "Because, unlike you, he could make the difficult decisions. Do you want to know why Loghain didn't send his troops in to that valley? Because _your brother's_ idiot battle strategy would have cost Ferelden its entire army. I may not have liked him very much, at all in fact, but he was twice the Grey Warden you will ever be!" During that tirade, Alistair's expression had gone from viciously toying with her to murderously dark and he yanked against his restraints again. Good. She had gotten to him. Looking him once over and sneering with disgust, she finished by saying, "Go drown yourself in your cups for all I care. You're of no use to me." And with that she pushed herself off the chair and strode out the door to the room.

Once outside, she turned to the guards. "Untie him in two hours. And in the meantime, pack up Bann Teagan and Ethlen's an my things. We'll be needing a new place to sleep."

Then Bann Teagan's voice sounded behind her. "Oh Lyna…what did you do?"

"I told him the truth," She replied. "Sometimes the truth hurts."


	8. Chapter 7

Lyna sighed heavily as Teagan stared wide eyed at her. No, she hadn't wanted to say all those things she'd said to Alistair. She hadn't even meant half of them. She had been telling the truth when she told him that Loghain was a better Grey Warden, but only in the strictest sense of being an experienced general who understood that during a time of crisis, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. He'd been easier to fight beside because he hadn't challenged her less attractive decisions. Alistair had always been and would always be the better person. Sacrifice—or at least sacrificing others—had been a concept that Alistair had never been able to stomach. He always wanted to save everyone no matter the risk to their persons or their objective, and she'd truly worried on more than once occasion that if something happened to her, he would have gotten their entire company killed. That didn't mean Loghain hadn't done despicable things (and she'd made sure he paid for every one of his infractions) but it had made her burdens easier to bear knowing her fellow Warden would fall in line rather than start a fight.

"My friend, If you had told him the truth and nothing more, I doubt the scowl on your face would be quite as deep as it is," Teagan replied, his expression no less surprised than it had been when she began speaking. "What precisely do you two say to each other?"

"What precisely was said is none of your business Teagan," Lyna bit back coldly as she refused to make eye contact and made a great show of adjusting her leathers and cape.

"I beg to differ, Lyna," Teagan replied, the tenor of his voice raising ever so slightly—a rather sizeable indication that he was unpleased with the situation. Teagan never allowed his emotions to get the better of him. "I care a great deal about the outcome of this undertaking and I asked you to join me on the journey because I thought you might be able to sway my nephew in ways that I might not." He sighed deeply, his disappointed gaze never leaving her face, as he weighed his choices. "Lyna, you are my friend—one of my dearest, in fact—but Alistair is my family and if your presence proves too disruptive to accomplish the task in front of us, I will have to ask you, for the sake of our friendship, to return home." He sighed again, his eyes shooting skyward as he shook his head and began trying to mentally untie the knots she had just thrown in to their mission. "For now, please just be somewhere else while I try to reason with him…"

What was there to say to that? Of course he was right; the mission was what was important—even if the fate of thedas didn't hang in the balance. It was the first thing she taught the new recruits when they completed the joining. 'You are no longer an individual, you no longer have desires or demands, wants or needs…you no longer have any greater concern than the mission—whatever it may be.' Regardless of the anger still ripping through her veins, she needed to step away and allow cooler heads to take the lead.

"Very well," she nodded curtly as she stopped fidgeting with her armor and took a determined step in the direction of the city's outskirts. Her blades gave off a metallic ring as she slid them from their sheaths and twirled them in her hands before giving each of them a test swing. She'd been without a good fight for too long, and the Guard Captain had mentioned a bandit-slash-slaver problem in the hills. Perhaps she would try her hand at making a dent in their apparently troublesome population.

By the time she reached the base of Sundermount, it was noon and she was tired and covered in blood—the vast majority of which was not even her own! That fact put a triumphant little smirk on her lips and the fighting had done a nearly perfect job of chasing away her earlier anger. Bandits in Kirkwall appeared to be every bit as incompetent in combat as those in Ferelden. Of course, the taking of a life was not where she found her solace; in a perfect world (one she knew would never exist) she would simply wake up, hunt for food for her clan, eat and sleep. Perhaps she would even be so lucky as to take a lover or even fall in love again…though three times in one lifetime seemed to be asking a bit much of the creators, who had already provided her a perfectly suitable match in Tamlen all those years ago. In a perfect world, she would only ever kill to eat. Killing was not something she enjoyed. The fight? That sort of encounter—fighting with every ounce of strength and skill you had to simple go on breathing one more day—simply demanded that a person take their mind of their personal troubles. On slow days at the keep (and she was loathe to admit this) she sometimes found herself almost missing the blight. She and Alistair had spent their days fighting tooth and nail for the right to live, and their nights celebrating that life in each other's arms. It was a heady way to live, one that simply could not be duplicated in times of peace.

Her thoughts continued to circle as she took a seat on a large rock, removed her cloak and began attempting to spit shine the blades that were not just coated, but decidedly caked in blood.

"Now you I wasn't expecting…" came a sultry accented voice from behind.

Her hand stilled as her eyes widened. It couldn't be…could it? She turned to look over her shoulder, her brow furrowed but her expression hopeful. Behind her and just off to her left, leaning casually against a boulder and strapped in to his ever rank smelling Antivan leather, a blond elf smiled back at her.

"Zevran!" She cried as she launched to her feet, her blades clattering to the ground at her feet, and ran in to his arms.

"Lyna! If it isn't my favorite Grey Warden…" He smiled as he hugged her fiercely. "What are you doing in the Free Marches, my dear? Don't you have some castle full of sweaty young men to order about?"

Lyna could suppress the laugh that rose from her throat as she pulled back from the hug to look her friend in the eye. "Alas, they need very little ordering about. You'd be quite bored there, I'm sure," she winked before she quickly hugged him again. "Oh, it is good to see you, my friend. What have you been up to?"

Zevran shot her a sly sidelong glance as he stepped around her, one hand lingering just a bit too long at her waist, and bent to pick up her blades. "Never a good idea to leave your weapons unattended in Kirkwall, my dear," he warned as he handed them back to her. "You recall that the Crows want me dead, yes?"

"How could I forget?" she smirked in response.

"Well when I left your company it became very clear to me, very quickly I might add, that I may spend the rest of my life running unless I take the fight to them," he continued. "And so I have been killing my way up the food chain...more or less."

"And how is that going for you?" she asked as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Oh very well. I have killed one Guildmaster and have two more in my pocket…before long I'll have a controlling interest in the organization. If I'm not careful they may kill Claudio and the other two Talons and ask me to take over the whole order."

"Which you would in no way ever consider…"

"Not in a million years," He laughed. "They'd only being doing it to save their own skins anyway, and as nice as the money and power might be, it would simply be too stressful. You see, a talon is possibly the only target within the order that is more attractive than myself."

"Politically, financially or physically?" she snarked.

"Do you really think anyone who is referred to as a bird's claw could possibly be as ridiculously handsome as myself?" he replied, his eyebrow practically wiggling a dare at her to pin him to the rock and tear off his clothes.

"Perish the thought!" She gasped as she pressed an offended hand to her chest.

"But what of you, my dear?" He asked, his behavior sobering somewhat. "Surely there's a very good reason you have left your cozy castle?"

She nearly snorted at the descriptor. "I am quite sure that cozy is the wrong word for a stone building."

Zevran shrugged in reply. "That would depend on the castle. I have been in many a luxuriously plush bedchamber…but you are not answering my question."

Zevran wasn't quite as persistent as Ethlen in his questions, but if he wanted to know something badly enough, he would find it out. She might as well tell him and save them both the headache. "Bann Teagan located Alistair in Kirkwall," She sighed. "We're attempting to bring him home."

"Attempting? Could you not simply knock him out, tie him up, throw him over your lovely shoulder and drag him back to Vigil's Keep, kicking and screaming?" Zevran asked, that naughty little wiggle working its way back in to his eyebrow.

"I could," She replied, rolling her eyes at the innuendo. "But Teagan wants Alistair to return of his own choice. It makes sense, no matter how much more difficult it makes the task," she sighed in frustration. "If I did knock him out and drag him home, he'd simply try to run again when he came to."

"This is true enough…but then what are you doing so far away from the city? Are you two lovebirds fighting again already?" He prodded, nudging her with his elbow.

Lyna looked away, refusing to meet his eyes and let her own admit her shame at still being unable to control her temper where her former lover was concerned. "Alistair and I may have had a few words…I suppose they could be called heated, if you really wanted."

"Aaahh…" Zevran smiled and nodded knowingly. "And so you decided to take your rage out on these witless thugs rather than on dear Alistair's head." He finished, gesturing to the corpses off in the distance.

"Something like that…" she sniffed in response.

Zevran smiled fully now. "Then you didn't know that clan is here!"

"What?" She gaped, not sure she'd heard him correctly

"Yes!" Zevran declared, excited to be the first one to give her the news. "They are camped at the base of the mountain, just a little further from here. I've been sleeping in a cave nearby and they've been kind enough to share their meals with me."

Lyna broke in to a smile so wide she wasn't entirely sure her face could contain it. "Could you take me to them!?" She asked, almost bouncing with joy.

"I might be persuaded to do that…for a kiss," Zevran winked.

Lyna was too happy to even pretend to be annoyed with his constant flirtations. Instead she simply smiled as she said, "You simply refuse to take 'I love someone else' as an answer, don't you?"

"One cannot succeed if they accept the first rejection," He shrugged.

"Or the tenth, it would seem," She laughed.

"I'm sure you have rejected me more times than that," He sighed playfully.

Lyna couldn't help but laugh. "And yet you persevere," She smiled.

"And always will," he prodded.

Okay, so it was possible for his fliting to irritate her a little, even in her current mood. "I can most likely find the camp by myself, you know," She mock-glared at him as she stepped to the side to go around him.

"Alright, fine, yes I will take you!" he replied as he hurried to catch her up.

Lyna paused and waited a moment until he was at her side again. "Thank you," she smiled as she gave him one final hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then gestured for him to lead the way.

Zevran hadn't been exaggerating; the Dalish camp had literally been around the next bed. As they entered the camp, the familiar smells of her childhood came rushing back; the scents smoke of the campfire, of game roasting for the midday meal, of leather tanning and herbs drying on the hearth…they all flooded her senses and brought a nostalgic tear to her eye.

To her right she saw a blond archer restringing his bow. She smiled as she snuck up behind him. Silently, she pulled her blade from its scabbard and grinned almost maniacally as the elf's back stiffened at the touch of the blade's edge.

"Empty your pockets," She sniggered, lowering her voice to disguise it.

But then Fenarel was one of her oldest friends, and couldn't be fooled so easily. Lightning fast, as always, he twirled away from the blade and turned to face her, a smile on his lips. "Lethallan, what in the name of all the creators are you doing here?" He asked as he grabbed her in his arms and hugged her tight. She hugged him back and reveled for a moment in the warmth of her clansman.

"Visiting my clan of course!" She replied as she pulled back to look him in the eye. He was just as she remembered, if a little older…and perhaps a little less jovial? Something tugged at the smile that usually lit up the camp and the eye of every young Dalish girl.

"But what of the Grey Wardens?" He asked, not giving her a chance to question him. It had been years since she had laid eyes on him, perhaps it was simply the toll of life carrying on…Creators knew she was much changed herself.

"I'm allowed to take a vacation once every age or so," She teased. Fenarel didn't smile at her quip and so she sobered herself some. "But truthfully, I am in Kirkwall on Warden business," she continued. "when I ran in to this degenerate, he told me the clan was camped here. I couldn't possibly pass up the opportunity."

Fenarel watched her a long moment, his brow furrowed somewhat. It seemed almost as if he was attempting to reconcile the woman before him with the Lyna of their childhood…and failing. "You speak like the shemlen, ma falon," he finally told her. She attended to him now carefully. Fenarel had never been one to judge openly (unlike herself and Tamlen) and she wondered if the observation was meant as something more.

She furrowed her own bow in response. "I speak as my men do, Fenharel…some of whom are shemlen," she reasoned gently. Had any other elf implied that she had lost touch with her roots, they would have found her dagger at their throat in the space of a breath…but something wasn't quite right with Fenarel. They had been children together, been dedicated to Andruil together, been apprenticed together. She knew something was off with her clansman now, and it in no small way concerned her.

"Ir abelas, Ma'lan," Fenarel smiled weakly and shook his head as he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "You are just so changed, and I am afraid now is the worst possible time."

And there it was. Something was indeed wrong. "Why? What has happened?" Zevran asked as he abandoned maintaining a polite distance and came up beside her. The assassin's sudden intrusion in to the conversation and equal concern made her all the more apprehensive. Zevran had been interacting with her clan long enough to know that Fenarel's mood was unusual, making the reason behind it all the more dire.

He refused to meet her eyes as he said, "The keeper has gone to face an ancient evil that is bound atop the mountain."

"What!? Why?" Lyna cried, her heart jumping in to her throat. 'Ancient evils' were never an easy foe to defeat. What had possessed the keeper to think she could face one alone?

"Merrill has been communing with it," Fenarel supplied. "She was banished from camp because we feared she would bring its evil down on us, but that has not stopped her. She believes she can resist the demon's call, but…"

"How could you allow this!?" Lyna cried. Logically she knew Fenarel was as much to blame for Merrill's choices as Lyna was for the choices her Banns made, but her Keeper was likely halfway up the mountain by now and intent on paying the price Merrill's choices had wrought.

"The dread wolf take you, Lyna!" Fenarel yelled, the usually cool and charming exterior completely vanished. "You think you are the only stubborn elf in the world?" He threw his hands in the air and shook his head in disbelief. "Merrill believes with all her heart that she can cure _you_ of the darkspawn sickness. If there is anyone to blame for this, it's you and Tamlen—nothing will dissuade her, and now that same dark spirit calls for her soul. "

She ignored the jab at Tamlen and herself. "And the Keeper? Somehow her departure from camp escaped your notice!?"

"As if we could stop Keeper Marethari from doing exactly as she pleases; she cast a sleeping spell on the scouts we keep posted at the base of the pass!" He shouted again, though this time it seemed to be aimed more at whatever gods might listen than at her.

"And none of you have so much as bothered to go after her!" Lyna accused.

"None of us can!" He roared in her face. There was a long moment as they stared each other down. Lyna would not take the blame for Merrill's choices and Fenarel would not take the blame for the Keeper's. Finally Fenarel sighed and bowed his head as he admitted what was holding him and the other hunters back. "We'd be dead before we ever reached her…" he trailed off morosely.

Lyna, eager to put the conflict behind her and stop Marethari before she did something that couldn't be undone, let out a deep breath. No, none of the hunters would make it to Marethari's side. She and Tamlen had been the clan's best hunters and they had fell victim to a mirror. Sundermount, according the legend, was a hotbed of demonic activity; once a place where Tevinter magisters and the great enchanters of Arlathan had waged a war so brutal that both sides had resorted to summoning demons beyond count in a last ditch effort to win. If the legend was true, then those demons still roamed the mountainside, unaware that the battle was over and the war long since past. None of the remaining hunters could cut their way through that gauntlet. Her gaze turned to the man beside her. He had once been her most loyal companion. He was one of only two people who shared the secrets of what had truly happened in the final battle against Urthemiel, and he seemed to care about her clan. If there was one person she could count on her watch her back in this crisis, it was him. "…Zevran?"

"You do not even have to ask, my dear. My blades are yours," He nodded, his gaze carrying the same gravity as her own.

"Fenarel, I will not let this happen," she promised her clansman as she turned and ran towards the mountain pass.

"Mahariel!" Fenarel called after her, his expression deadly serious. "There is no time left, you must run!"

Lyna nodded at him in understanding. She would prevail; too much sorrow had befallen this clan in her time. She would see that it was not added to.

A/N: WOW! Sorry for the delay in updates guys! It took me a really long time to figure out where I was going from Lyna and Alistair's initial confrontation, and then it took me even longer to figure out how in the heck to write it. I scrapped this chapter at least four times before I finally wrote a version I didn't hate. Let me know how you like it!

Dalish notes:

Ma'lan/Ma'lin: my sister/my brother. This is a completely made up word that I threw together based on the elven dictionary on the DA wiki. ma = my and lin = blood, but when lin is used in the word Lethallin/Lethallan, it takes on a feminine form of lan.

Da'mi: little blade (from the previous chapter)

On to chapter 8!


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